Thorns
by Caval
Summary: Yohji and Aya have always butted heads, but an offhand offer and an unexpected response might lead to some new understandings between the two. YxA, Yaoi.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Aya hissed in pain as a fat drop of blood welled up from the ball of his finger where the rose's thorn had bitten into his flesh. He dabbed the injured finger on the paper towel that he had brought over in anticipation of this situation and thought black thoughts. He hated roses for the hazards they posed, and hated them even more because Kritiker had seen it fit to assign him a red rose as his "code flower". He'd thought the cat code was bad enough, but when the Kritiker liaison had told him there was a flower code as well Aya had desperately wanted to walk out the door. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option, so he had stayed. He still hated his flower code, though. He also hated the sappy arrangements that contained the red flowers, such as the one he was currently slaving over: a disgustingly large heart wreath made of red, pink, and white roses with the commissioner's girlfriend's name written, again in roses, across the interior of the heart. It was nauseating, and it involved removing the thorns from what seemed like hundreds of roses, a task at which Aya, despite his almost preternatural grace and dexterity in most other matters, was clumsy. He could ask for help in removing the thorns from the roses but, given that he was sharing this particular shift with Yohji, he would rather slice himself to ribbons with the thorns than ask for help. The blonde had an infuriating way of ruffling the chilly calm that Aya did his best to project. Strangely, Yohji also had a talent for removing rose thorns. He was quick, and HE never cut himself. His dexterity might have come from using his wire, but Aya thought sourly that it was more likely the result of hours upon hours spent unlocking tricky bra clasps.

Aya shot a glare at the object of his musing who, true to form, was entertaining a circle of giggling female admirers. Somewhat surprisingly, these girls looked to be significantly older than the fan girls that usually inundated the shop, although they were no less giggly. Aya had to bite back a grimace of distaste. He hated the way women flocked to the shop. At least these girls seemed content with Yohji's attentions, and did not seem inclined to come over to bother him. As if sensing Aya's scrutiny, Yohji turned his head languidly towards Aya, an easy grin still on his face. The grin transformed as he took in Aya's baleful expression. His lips remained in the rough approximation of a smile, but his eyes hardened and the grin became mocking.

"Jealous, Aya, because I'm getting all the attention? Maybe if you tried being a little nicer, you'd get some company too."

Aya did not dignify the remark with an answer and, after shooting a venomous glare at his blonde teammate, threw the offending rose down on the counter and stalked into the back room, shoulders rigid under his orange sweater. In the cool dark of the storage area, Aya slumped against a wall and let out the breath he had been holding in a long shudder. _Damn Yohji_. Aya was furious with himself for once again allowing one of Yohji's remarks to nettle him. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the painful pounding in his head. The headaches that had plagued him since his childhood had been coming with increasing regularity and severity in the past few weeks, and his altercations with Yohji always made them worse. Aya could hear Yohji explaining his disappearance to the crowd of fan girls in the shop.

"Don't worry about Aya, ladies, he doesn't know how to have any fun. Now, I on the other hand…"

Aya smiled bitterly to himself. No, he didn't know how to have fun. He didn't have the luxury. The thought fluttered through his mind that if Yohji had met him years ago, before Rejii Takatori ripped his life to shreds, he might have had a different opinion of his stoic teammate. Aya dismissed the thought. Even if he had met Yohji 5 years ago, Yohji would probably still have found his lifestyle unspeakably dull. He had never explored the club scene, he had never experimented with drugs, and he had certainly never participated in the wild, passionate, flings that seemed so integral to Yohji's conception of an entertaining existence. Aya's father had encouraged his children to excel academically, and Aya had been quite happy to spend most of his time in the library. His sister, the sister whose name he had taken and stained with blood, she had been different. She had chaffed at their father's regulations; the library was too somber for her vibrant personality. She had been forever trying to convince her brother sneak out with her for the afternoon. Aya had to close his eyes against the suspicious moisture that accompanied the memory. Unbidden, the thought crossed his mind. _Yohji would have liked her_.

Aya pushed himself away from the wall, and dashed his hand angrily across his wet eyes. The jagged shards of memory sliced at him, not at all blunted by the passage of years. _Takatori_. The name growled through his mind, and he gripped a broom handle until his fingers were bloodless and the wooden handle was in danger of snapping like a piece of dried kindling. He let his hatred rage through him, a flaming tide that melted the pain that stabbed at his gut. He needed the hatred, needed it to dull the pain of his memories so that he could do what needed to be done to care for his sister and avenge his family. Sometimes he thought that his hatred and need for vengeance were the only things that kept his heart beating, kept the blood moving through his veins. He rather thought that if he ever did manage to carry out his revenge his heart would stop beating right along with Takatori's, as surely as if his sword had plunged through both of their bodies instead of just through Takatori's black heart. He was not concerned by the thought. His agreement with Kritiker ensured his sister's continued care, and if by some miracle she did wake, it would be better that she did not see what her brother had become.

Aya slowly released the broom handle and felt the tingling of blood rushing back into his fingers. He replaced the broom against the wall and checked the clock on the wall. He and Yohji were off in 15 minutes. The thought of staying in the back room to avoid Yohji for the rest of the shift was a tempting one, but he still had the stupid arrangement to finish. Besides, the bit of pride he had left would not allow him to hide from Yohji any longer. He snagged a few sprigs of baby's breath in order to create the impression that he had simply gone into the back room in search of fillers for his arrangement, composed himself, and stalked back into the front room. He returned to his stool and resumed stripping the thorns from the roses. From the sound of things, Yohji was still entertaining his female companions. Aya kept his eyes fixed on his work and resolutely ignored his teammate. He hoped Ken and Omi would be on time for their shift. He had a visit to make.

Yohji watched the shop door close behind the group of girls with relief. He'd had to use nearly all of his considerable charm to keep the girls occupied with him and away from his red-haired teammate. Ordinarily, Yohji would have been insulted if anyone had implied that he might have to _work_ to keep a group of women interested in him, but Aya's presence complicated matters. Yohji knew full well that he was a very attractive man, with his burnt-honey locks, golden skin, and mossy eyes. Aya though– Aya was stunning. His exotic coloring, angular, catlike, features, and lithe build attracted no little bit of attention from the female and male patrons alike, and even Aya's "touch me and die" glares and brusque service manner did little to deter his many admirers. Yohji knew how much Aya hated dealing with his fans, so when the gaggle of girls had walked into the store today and had moved with the precision of a ballistic missile towards the bench where Aya was working, Yohji had moved forward to intercept them. He seemed to find himself in this position every time he shared a shift with Aya, and he was always surprised by his instinctive defense of the redhead, since it wasn't as if the two men were close. In fact, considering that Aya seemed to want to ram Yohji through with his katana most of the time, they were about as un-close as two people could be. Somehow, that fact never stopped Yohji from trying to deflect the fan girls that locked onto Aya.

Today Yohji had succeeded in diverting the girls' attentions to himself, but now he wondered, not for the first time, why he had bothered. It wasn't as if Aya had ever shown any gratitude for his interventions, and more often than not Yohji was treated to one of Aya's frigid glares for his trouble. Today had been no exception, and Aya's hostility had sparked Yohji's temper, which had prompted Yohji to say the first cutting remark that had crossed his mind. Of course, Yohji knew Aya was not at all jealous of the attention that the girls were giving him, but he'd also known the remark would irritate the redhead. His interactions with Aya were taking on the regularity of a well choreographed, albeit hostile, dance: Aya glared, Yohji snapped, Aya glared again and left the room. Yohji sighed. He didn't see any way to break the pattern. Aya gave every indication that he would prefer a dead Yohji to a live one, and only Aya's painful practicality eased Yohji's fear that a katana blade would find him in the night. If Yohji died, Weiss's efficiency would be hampered, and Aya wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the effectiveness of the team no matter how much he disliked Yohji. The thought wasn't terribly comforting, and Yohji decided that from now on he would just let Aya deal with the fan girls on his own.

Yohji walked over to the cash register, leaned casually against the counter, and looked over at Aya. The redhead had returned to his workstation a few minutes ago, several sprigs of baby's breath in hand. Yohji wondered if Aya actually thought he was fooling anyone with the baby's breath; Yohji knew full well why Aya had retreated into the back room, and it wasn't for flowers. As he studied the redhead, Yohji didn't bother to be covert about his observation: one glance had been enough to tell him that Aya was pretending that he didn't exist. Aya employed the tactic often, and Yohji doubted that Aya would deign to look his way even if he burst into flames. Generally, Yohji hated being ignored, but Aya's determined indifference was actually somewhat welcome. It gave Yohji a chance to study the redhead for as long as he wanted without having his attentions met by an icy amethyst glare. Yohji shivered to himself. Aya had a glare that could chill a corpse. But now, with those cold, cold, eyes screened by a shaggy fall of ruby bangs and fixed steadily on the flower arrangement, Yohji was free to admire the graceful curve of Aya's neck where it was visible before it disappeared into his hideous orange sweater, the way the muscles in his forearms flexed and relaxed as he bent himself to his delicate task, and the startling contrast of his flaming hair against the pallor of his cheek. Aya was beautiful, there was no denying that, and Yohji had always been fascinated by beautiful things. Too bad the man was such a prick, though.

Yohji grinned as he watched color slowly rise to Aya's pale cheeks. Aya was far too aware of his surroundings not to have felt Yohji's eyes on him, and the prolonged scrutiny was clearly making him uncomfortable. However, since he had decided to ignore Yohji, he couldn't lift his head to glare at Yohji without violating his self-imposed rules. Highly amused, Yohji crossed his arms and settled into a more comfortable position to maintain his vigil until Omi and Ken arrived.

The door swung open, the bells hung above it jangling wildly, as the youngest member of Weiss tumbled in, cheeks flushed, and hair in wild disarray. "Yohji-kun, Aya-kun, sorry I'm late! I had to stop by the library, and then I had to get the notes for the class I missed doing recon for the job last week, and then…"

"Whoa! Whoa!" Yohji laughingly held up his hands as if to ward off Omi's breathless explanation. "It's not that big of a deal, you're only a few minutes late. Of course, you could always make it up to me by taking my Saturday morning shift." Yohji made mournful eyes at Omi. He hated the morning shifts. Omi laughed. "I'll trade you for my afternoon shift. Yaone wanted to meet up to study for our math exam Saturday afternoon, if we switch I can make it."

"Done!" Yohji grinned. Aya always volunteered for the Saturday morning shift, and now he wouldn't have to deal with the redhead's ire when he showed up for his shift late and hung-over. Pleased as he was to get out of the early shift, Yohji was surprised to feel a pang of regret at the thought that he would now be spending his shift with Ken rather than with Aya. Yohji told himself that the regret probably just came from the fact that he would now be forced to endure hours of Ken's endless soccer prattle, and pushed it to the back of his mind.

As Omi disappeared into the back room to fetch his apron, the bells jangled again as the door was flung open and Ken rushed in, nearly buried under an enormous mesh bag bulging with soccer balls. Ken heaved the bag off his shoulder and flung it onto the floor. A few soccer balls bounced out and rolled into various corners of the shop. One bumped into the leg of the table where Aya was putting the finishing touches on his arrangement, and Aya gave Ken an annoyed glance. Ken, oblivious as always, didn't notice.

"A couple of the kids' parents were late picking them up from practice, so I had to wait with them. Sorry guys!" Ken didn't wait for a response as he headed through the door that connected the shop to their living quarters. He left the door ajar, and reappeared in a few moments with a container of bright blue Gatorade in his hand. As Yohji watched in bemusement Ken tilted his head back and downed over half of the sports drink in a single gulp. Yohji didn't understand how Ken stomached the stuff at all, much less how he managed to consume it in such huge quantities. Yohji briefly considered trying to get rid of another one of his morning shifts by making Ken feel guilty enough to trade with him, but was forced to dismiss the idea. Ken wasn't nearly as much of a pushover as Omi. If Yohji complained about Ken's lateness, Ken would probably respond by commenting that Yohji was no model of punctuality himself, and Yohji couldn't deny that.

Omi returned from the back room, his apron on and Ken's slung over his arm. He handed Ken his apron with a smile. "Hi Ken-kun. How was practice?" As they talked about the events of the day, Omi helped Ken corral the run-away soccer balls. Yohji marveled at the energy of the two youngest members of Weiss as he untied his own apron and dropped it on the counter. The shop, so silent and tense when only he and Aya had been present, was now full of the sound of voices and laughter. The thought prompted him to shift his gaze to his silent teammate, but he was surprised to find Aya's table empty. The finished rose arrangement had been placed alongside the other arrangements waiting for pick-up, the flower clippings had been swept into the bin, and the tools were hanging from the metal hooks on the wall. Aya's apron was folded neatly on the bench behind the table. Yohji hadn't seen him tidying the work-table, hadn't seen him leave the shop, hadn't even heard the jingle of the bells as the door opened and closed. Yohji shook his head, mystified. All the members of Weiss had learned to move silently, but Aya put the rest of them to shame. Of course Aya hadn't bothered to say goodbye, or to let his teammates know where he was going, but Yohji had long since grown accustomed to Aya's disregard for common courtesies.

Yohji said goodbye to Ken and Omi and walked out of the shop into the bright afternoon sunlight. He winced a bit at the glare, grateful for his ever-present sunglasses. He glanced up and down the street, but he didn't see a familiar head of bright red hair. Aya probably wouldn't come back to the apartment until evening. He vanished almost every afternoon that they didn't have a mission, generally for hours at a time. Yohji had no idea where he went, and he was desperately curious about it. He had even considered following Aya some afternoon, and only the knowledge that Aya really would put his katana through him if he noticed he was being followed had stopped him. Obviously, asking Aya where he went was out of the question; Aya guarded his secrets fanatically. Shrugging, Yohji pulled an only slightly bent cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it with a practiced flick of his silver lighter. His eyes closed with contentment as the smoke filled his lungs. He wasn't allowed to smoke in the shop, apparently it was bad for the flowers or something, and at the end of a shift he was always dying for a smoke. He leaned casually against the wall and prepared to smoke the rest of his pack.

Author's note: I hope you enjoyed this first bit of my story, I realize that not much has happened yet, but I felt I needed to set the character relationships before things really got going. If you've read the story I would really appreciate your review – this is my first fan-fiction attempt, and I would really like to know what you think, even if you hated the story. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

…

Aya flung the hospital door shut behind him with such force that it swung wildly on its hinges. The nurse at the front desk looked up, startled, and craned her neck to get a glimpse of the redhead through the window before he disappeared around the corner of the building. She was surprised by the display of temper; the young man was a frequent visitor and always gave her a polite nod when he passed her desk.

Aya strode rapidly down the street, shoulders hunched, his hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. The doctor's words echoed in his head, over and over. "We need to consider removing life support." Aya had stood next to the hospital bed, fists clenched and shaking with rage as the man had told him that his sister's chances of waking up after so long were infinitesimal, that he needed to let her go and move on with his life. Aya had managed not to hit the man. Barely. This wasn't the first time that a doctor had tried to counsel him, but the well intentioned advice never failed to infuriate him. Aya had responded to the doctor's speech with a single word: "No". Then he'd turned his back on the man and had walked out of the hospital.

Aya felt as though he was slowly bleeding to death from some invisible wound as he walked down the street. The doctor's words had created a crack in the icy barrier of indifference that he so carefully maintained, calling up his memories, his pain, his fear. Ruthlessly, he tried to shove the emotions back behind the wall and to shore up the crack, but once released the feelings seemed intent on devouring him and refused to meekly return to their prison. Aya walked aimlessly in an aching fog, and after an interminable amount of time found himself at the door of the apartment he shared with the other members of Weiss. He blinked at it for a moment without comprehension before realizing that his feet had led him home. Inside, he was relieved to find the common room and kitchen empty. There was a note on the fridge and Aya gave it a disinterested scan. "Ken and I have gone to a movie, see you later! – Omi". That left only Yohji unaccounted for. Aya hoped that the blonde had already gone out for the evening, but his hopes were dashed as he heard noises coming from the bathroom as he climbed the stairs to the upper level where he and the others had their bedrooms. Aya sped up, hoping he could get into his room and have the door safely closed and locked before Yohji emerged. Luck, it seemed, was not with him. Before he reached the bathroom, the door opened emitting a cloud of warm steam and Yohji, cotton towel slung low on his golden hips.

…

"Aya! My favorite person in the world! How's it going?" Yohji grinned, moving easily to block Aya's progress down the hallway.

Aya looked at Yohji suspiciously, sure that the blonde was making fun of him, but not sure what to do about it. He settled for making a non-committal grunt. "Hn"

"Now Aya, that's not a proper answer and you know it. You should learn to be friendlier." Yohji had indulged himself in a few drinks while he was getting ready to go out, and he was feeling just buzzed enough to be slightly careless of his personal safety.

Aya glared at him. "Move. Out. Of. My. Way." His voice was deadly quiet.

Yohji's insides quailed a little at Aya's steely tone, but he maintained his casual stance and grin. "But Aya, I want to get your opinion on my outfit for the night. I figure that with your impeccable fashion sense you'd be the best person to advise me – I mean, orange sweater and red hair – it's an inspired combination! I hear clashing is the new black."

Aya's glare, if possible, turned even icier. Through the mild fuzz of alcohol induced haziness Yohji was mildly surprised to discover that it hadn't given him frostbite.

"Move." The command came again, this time muffled somewhat by tightly clenched teeth. Yohji watched with interest as a muscle pulsed in Aya's jaw. The man was lucky he hadn't splintered any of his teeth, he ground them so often.

"Alright, alright." Yohji stepped aside, knowing that if he continued his game of Aya-baiting much longer, he would likely get a black eye or a split lip for his trouble. Facial abrasions most definitely would _not_ go with his outfit.

As he watched Aya's stiff back receding down the hallway, now safely out of punching range, his alcohol-loosened tongue seemed to form words of its own accord. "You know, you should come out with me tonight. Maybe a few drinks would do something about the royally large pole you seem to have shoved up your a." Yohji regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He knew he had gone too far and watched Aya's suddenly still back with trepidation. It was even money at the moment whether Aya would simply storm into his room and slam the door, or would opt for a more violent solution. Yohji shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, trying to prepare himself in case Aya did chose the violent solution, but despite his efforts he was in no way prepared for what happened next.

"Alright." Aya's voice was quiet and made quieter by the fact that his back was still turned towards Yohji. Yohji thought he must have misunderstood, since there was no way Aya could have said what Yohji had thought he heard. He was grateful for but perplexed by the fact that Aya hadn't tried to kill him yet.

"Huh?" The grunted inquiry was all Yohji could manage.

"I said 'alright'. I'll go out with you." Aya's cool voice held a hint of irritation at having to repeat himself. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." And with that, he vanished into his room, the door closing with a soft "click" behind him.

Yohji felt as though he had been poleaxed. He stood for a few moments staring at Aya's closed door. He couldn't believe what had just happened. If someone had told him this morning that the same Aya who regularly condemned Yohji's nocturnal activities would agree to participate in them, he would have laughed and suggested the person visit a psychiatrist. Moving with sudden decisiveness he went into his room and looked cautiously out of his window. The street looked normal enough, a woman burdened with a full shopping bag was walking down the street, yellow light was shining through some of the curtains in the deepening dusk, and the ginger cat that haunted the alley between the Koneko and the next-door bike shop was sitting calmly on top of a trash can. Yohji cast a suspicious look at the sky. The sun seemed to be setting normally, its last bloody rays flung out across the darkening sky. Yohji grunted and moved away from the window. It seemed that if he had somehow fallen into an alternate universe, it bore a cunning resemblance to the one he was familiar with. As ridiculous as the idea seemed, Yohji really couldn't come up with any other explanation for Aya's behavior. Well, alternate universe or not, he needed to find some clean clothes, something that, he realized as he looked around at the lumpy piles of dirty clothing that peppered the floor of his room, was in rather short supply. Yohji picked his way gingerly across the treacherous terrain; he knew from experience the hazards of stepping on such innocuous objects as shoes, mugs, and razors with a bare foot. He made it to his closet without major incident, and looked over the items jumbled there with a critical eye. He didn't usually have to put much effort into choosing his clothing for a night out, virtually all of his clothing was skin tight and cut to reveal tantalizing glimpses of golden skin. Any one of his outfits was sexy enough to attract plenty of attention. Tonight, however, he found himself discarding piece after piece of clothing, and with a little jolt he realized that he wanted to look extra sexy tonight. He wanted to look extra sexy for Aya.

…

Down the hall, Aya was standing in front of his considerably more organized closet and regarding its contents with dismay. Gods, he shouldn't have accepted Yohji's sarcastic offer. He thought about just forgetting the whole thing, just staying in his room until Yohji left without him. Surely Yohji didn't want him along any more than he really wanted to go, maybe Yohji was getting dressed as quickly as he could, hoping he could be out of the house before Aya came out of his room. Aya clung to that thought for a moment before he was forced to admit to himself that Yohji wouldn't try to leave without him. It just wasn't Yohji's style. Yohji wouldn't flee like a coward from an unpleasant situation. He was too bluntly honest for that.

Yohji wouldn't run away, but Aya had plenty of experience with running. Maybe he could just pretend that the conversation in the hallway had never happened. It probably wouldn't take much to convince Yohji that he had imagined the whole thing; Yohji was probably half convinced of that already.

Tempting as the thought was, Aya knew he wouldn't go through with it. When Yohji had made his backhanded offer, Aya had accepted because in that instant all he could think of was how badly he wanted the pain of his memories to fade, even for a moment. Aya wasn't stupid: he knew why Yohji went out night after night. Knew that the drink and the drugs and the women dulled the pain of whatever ghosts lurked in Yohji's past. Aya didn't know what those ghosts were, didn't want to know. He had his own ghosts to deal with and he didn't think he could handle anyone else's. But he did know that the nights out brought Yohji some sort of relief, even if it was fleeting, and tonight Aya was desperately afraid of what might happen if he didn't get some relief from his thoughts. The idea of going out with Yohji terrified him, but the thought of what lurked inside his own mind terrified him more. Aya's mouth curved into a bitter, self-mocking, grimace. He felt sorry for Yohji, about to have his evening ruined because his solitary, fearless, leader, was suddenly afraid to sit alone in the dark. With a sigh Aya reached forward and began flicking through the meager contents of his wardrobe, trying to find something, anything, that would be remotely suitable for the kind of place they were going. He had only what he'd seen of Yohji's wardrobe to inform him of proper club attire, and he already knew that he had nothing that even remotely resembled the mix of body forming leathers, silks, and sheer tops that Yohji wore when he went out. Well, that wasn't quite true. He paused in his search as his hand touched the cool leather of the pants he wore as a part of his mission uniform. The black pants fit him like a second skin but were supple enough to give him complete freedom of movement, a quality essential in his profession. He didn't like the idea of wearing his working clothes to a club, but a few more minutes of fruitless searching confirmed what he already knew: he didn't have much choice. At least he had sent the pants to his leather-worker after the last mission so they didn't have any suspicious tears or stains. He supposed he would have to wear his black work boots as well: his sneakers would look ridiculous with the pants. He pulled the pants and boots on, but he still had no idea what to do about a shirt. He cast his eyes about his room hopelessly, until he remembered something. Going to his dresser, he opened the bottom drawer. Aya had so few clothes that he hadn't filled up the dresser; this drawer was empty except for a single square of black folded in one corner. Aya picked it up and it slid in smooth folds across his arm. He had picked up the shirt on a rare whim when his hand had brushed against it as he walked through a department store in search of the sock department. The material had felt silky smooth, and he'd thought it might be nice to wear under an itchy sweater. Unfortunately, when he'd put the shirt in the wash it had shrunk horribly. He hadn't worn it since, but hadn't been able to bring himself to throw it away. He had spent valuable money on it, after all. Hardly able to believe he was contemplating wearing the shirt, Aya pulled it over his head and looked at himself in the mirror. The shirt had shrunk so much that it clung tightly to his body, and a thin line of pale skin flashed between the bottom of the shirt and the top of his pants. Aya felt ridiculous. He couldn't leave his room looking like this. Yohji would laugh at him. The doorman at the club would probably take one look at him and tell him to get lost. _Gods_, he thought. _Why did I think I could do this?_

As he glared at his image in the mirror a metallic glint from his earring caught his eye, and he drew in his breath sharply at the sting of memory that accompanied it._ That's why_, he thought. _I have to_. And with that, he spun savagely on his heel, and walked out of the room.

…

Yohji paced the living room restlessly, waiting for Aya and hoping that the mercurial redhead had not changed his mind. He still didn't understand why Aya suddenly wanted to go out with him, but he was very much looking forward to seeing his silent, reserved, teammate in a club. He had settled on wearing a green silk button-down shirt that emphasized the vibrant color of his eyes and dark jeans cut so tightly they looked as though they would need to be peeled off. He had left most of the buttons on the shirt undone, so that as he moved the shirt shifted to reveal the smooth planes of his chest and stomach. An appraising look into the mirror had assured him that he looked hot. _Maybe even hot enough to met the chilly demeanor of a certain redhead_, Yohji thought with a grin, but then promptly discarded the thought. Aya probably wouldn't warm up if he was thrown into a blast furnace, Yohji's outfit wasn't going to have any effect on him. Yohji didn't even know whether the appearance of men was something that Aya paid any attention to. He had never seen the redhead show any interest in women, true, but he had also never seen Aya show any interest in men. Yohji certainly had not had any effect on him, and Yohji prided himself on the ability to seduce anything that breathed. When Aya had opened those vibrant violet eyes the morning after Ken had "welcomed" him to Weiss by beating him to a bloody pulp, Yohji had immediately decided to turn his considerable seductive power on the redhead. While his interests generally ran towards women, he also enjoyed dalliances with the occasional man caught who his attention. Aya had definitely caught his attention, but Yohji had quickly been forced to abandon his seduction attempt in the face of Aya's implacable coldness. The failure had been a severe blow to Yohji's pride, and he had decided that Aya's insides really must be made of ice.

Yohji continued to pace, growing more and more anxious as the minutes passed and Aya didn't appear. Just as he was becoming convinced that Aya had changed his mind and was not coming down, Aya appeared at the top of the staircase. Yohji looked up at his teammate and his eyes widened in shock. During his flower shop shifts Yohji had spent more than a few hours imagining what Aya would look like wearing something other than his hideous orange sweater or his Abyssinian gear, but he now realized that his imaginings did not do any kind of justice to the reality. Aya was dressed simply in unrelieved black, but on Aya the generally unremarkable color had the effect of making his extraordinarily pale skin seem to glow against its darkness. His fitted shirt was made of some silky substance that shimmered subtly as he moved, and the pants – gods where had he gotten those pants! Then Yohji remembered that Aya wore black leather pants under his mission coat. The trenchcoat had always obscured most of the pants, but now he could see them in their entirely as they caressed the lean muscles of Aya's legs.

Aya lifted his chin and glared at Yohji, as if daring him to comment. No fear of that, Yohji thought. At the moment he didn't think he could put together a coherent sentence.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's Note: I just wanted to say thank you to my reviewers – you guys have no idea how much it means to me that you guys took the time to say something about my story. As a new writer I haven't reached that enlightened, self-sustaining, level of creativity where it doesn't matter to you if anyone likes your work as long as you do, and so I really appreciate hearing that someone is reading (and hopefully enjoying) my story. A comment made by Ptath also alerted me to another issue- I have no beta reader, and if you'd like the job I would be more than happy to reciprocate. If you are put off by the myriad of errors in my work I can assure you that I'm better at finding mistakes in other peoples writing than I am in my own. If you're interested, please let me know in a review. Thank you again reviewers, I hope you enjoy the next section. Sorry for the slow plot progression, I can't seem to help it.

…

The drive to the club was a silent affair. The quiet made Yohji uncomfortable but even though he'd opened his mouth a time or two to break the silence the words had died in his throat as he'd glanced over at the stiff, silent, figure in the passenger seat next to him. The silence seemed to suit Aya fine; he spent the whole of the journey staring resolutely out his window while Yohji tried to mask his discomfort by paying more attention to the road than it actually required. He was glad he had convinced Aya to let him drive so he at least had something to pretend to do. It had required a bit of persuasion; Aya hated riding with other people and when the two men had walked into the garage Aya had immediately moved towards his Porsche, even though Yohji was the one who knew where they were going. To make Aya agree to leave the Porsche behind Yohji had told him that he was worried that something might happen to the car since the clubs weren't in the best part of town. The threat was a spurious one: Yohji loved his Seven no less than Aya loved his Porsche, and he had long ago made arrangements with an enterprising lot owner who, for a generous fee, kept a space open for Yohji and looked out for the car while Yohji was gone. The man could have looked after the Porsche as easily as the Seven, but Yohji had chosen to keep that fact to himself. It was a mark of Aya's own discomfiture that he had accepted Yohji's reasoning without registering that Yohji certainly wouldn't be any keener than he was to endanger his car. Yohji was glad of the slip: he felt a strong need to be in control of _something_ on this increasingly strange night, even if that something was just the means of transportation.

The silent drive took far too long for Yohij's liking, but they finally arrived at his space. The lot owner recognized the Seven and raised a hand in greeting as Yohji climbed out of the car, but his hand stopped midair and his eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise when Aya slid gracefully out of the passenger seat. He was used to seeing Yohji leaving with company, but he had never seen him arrive with anyone before. He gave redhead an appraising look, and decided that he could definitely see why Yohji was changing his habits. Making sure the redhead wasn't looking, the owner caught Yohji's eye and gave him a knowing grin and a deliberate wink. Yohji returned the grin but shook his head slightly to let the man know that the situation wasn't what he assumed. Aya appeared to be completely engrossed in his study of a piece of old gum stuck to the asphalt, but Yohji knew from experience that Aya didn't miss much and he didn't want to face Aya's wrath if the redhead thought Yohji was impugning his virtue.

The club Yohji had chosen for the night was a few blocks from the parking lot. The walk, like the drive, was accomplished in silence. Aya seemed supremely disinterested in their destination and stalked along the sidewalk keeping as much distance between Yohji and himself as the pavement allowed. Irritated at being treated like a plague victim, Yohji set his course to a slight diagonal, so he gradually moved closer and closer to Aya. The redhead was already walking on the very edge of the curb, and when he instinctively tried to maintain the gap between himself and the blonde he stepped off the edge and into the muddy puddle of stale water that had collected in the gutter. Yohji had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the redhead's muffled curse, but by the time Aya looked up from his muddied boot he had schooled his features into a mask of innocence. Aya shot him a murderous glare anyway, and strode ahead. Yohji let him go, and began whistling as he walked along. A few minutes later he stopped in front of a nondescript building marked only with a flickering neon sign that read "icitas". The name was somewhat mysterious, but Yohji knew that it made quite a bit more sense with the inclusion of the first three letters, "Fel", which were currently burned out.

"Hey, Aya!" About a block ahead, the redhead paused and turned his head slightly back towards Yohji. "It's back here." Despite the distance, Yohji could see Aya's fists clench and unclench, and this time he didn't bother to hide his grin of amusement as the redhead stormed back towards him.

"You could have said something," Aya hissed as he drew even with Yohji.

"Yeah. I could have." Yohji smirked and gestured grandly towards the club. "Here we are."

Aya glanced in the direction Yohji was pointing and then back to Yohji, arching one scarlet eyebrow in silent inquiry.

"I know it's not much to look at from the outside, don't worry, the inside is much nicer." Yohji answered the unspoken question.

Aya's only response was a skeptical grunt.

"Shall we?" Since he knew he wasn't likely to get one, Yohji didn't wait for a response and moved towards the entrance. After a moment's hesitation, Aya followed.

…

Despite Yohji's assurances, as he followed the blonde down a dimly lit hallway that was punctuated only by suspicious looking puddles of unidentifiable substances, Aya did not see anything to disabuse him of his initial, unfavorable, assessment of the club. As he carefully skirted a puddle of something he very much hoped was not, but judging from the smell probably was, urine, he wondered for about the thousandth time that evening what had possessed him to agree to this. The night certainly wasn't going well so far, and he doubted that things were going to miraculously turn around now that they were at the club. Aya had noticed that the club was named for the roman goddess of good fortune but, since the appellation had apparently failed to bestow these qualities on the club itself Aya didn't have much hope that it would do so for its patrons. He wondered why Yohji had decided to bring him here, and realized with a sinking feeling that a dump like this was probably the only place that Yohji dared bring him. Aya had seen the startled expression on Yohji's face earlier that night when he had come down the stairs in his approximation of clubbing attire. Yohji had appeared to be in shock, most probably induced by Aya's colossal failure to achieve the proper club appearance. Aya had stopped himself, barely, from running back into his room, and had instead shot Yohji a furious glare intended to make the blonde think better of laughing.

While Aya had certainly not expected Yohji to express admiration for his appearance, he had been surprised to feel a pang of disappointment and hurt at Yohji's reaction. He had spent so long carefully constructing walls to keep his feelings in and others out, had convinced himself that it didn't matter what people thought of him and that nothing mattered but revenge, and here he was, upset because Yohji didn't like the way he looked. He'd been so annoyed with himself for this emotional lapse that, in his distraction, he had allowed Yohji to convince him that they should take the Seven rather than the Porsche to the club. He was buckled into the passenger seat before he realized that the reasoning Yohji had offered for the driving arrangements didn't make sense. By then it had seemed too late to resume the argument, and Aya had spent the remainder of the journey trying to get his wayward emotions under control. He'd made some progress by the end of the trip, but it was erased when he saw the exchange between the lot owner and Yohji. The lot owner had clearly been under the impression that he and Yohji were a couple, but Yohji had been quick to disabuse him of that notion. Aya was once again concerned to find himself feeling disappointed, this time because Yohji seemed embarrassed to be associated with him. This time, however, the disappointment had been tempered with annoyance at being the subject of Yohji's wordless discussion with a stranger, and on the walk to the club Aya had made a point to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the blonde, so that it would be obvious to any observer that he and Yohji were most certainly not together. The plan had backfired somewhat when Yohji had begun drifting over to Aya's side of the sidewalk and, in an effort to maintain his distance, Aya had slipped on the slick curb and doused his boot in muddy gutter-water. A glance at Yohji's carefully blank expression had been enough for Aya to ascertain that Yohji's drifting had not been accidental, and Aya had stalked ahead, seething. When Yohji had informed him that he'd walked right past the club Aya had considered punching him, but had been disarmed by his surprise at the shabbiness of their destination.

Aya hadn't really known what to expect from one of Yohji's haunts, but he had certainly expected something more opulent than this club with its dingy sign and splattered hallway. Guilt at the notion that it was his own sub-standard appearance that had forced Yohji away from his traditional, luxurious, haunts dispelled the last of Aya's irritation. His feeling of guilt increased as he watched the silk-clad back moving down the hallway in front of him. Aya had seen Yohji leave for a night out on innumerable occasions and the blonde had always looked amazing, but tonight he looked even better than usual. Aya wasn't sure what was producing the effect: the clothes certainly fit closely enough to highlight Yohji's lean physique, but tight clothing was not a new look on Yohji. In fact, his green shirt was rather more conservative than the midriff-baring, transparent, numbers he often wore out. It was the color, Aya decided. It matched his eyes. Aya realized Yohji must have had big plans for the evening, and he wished again that he had not accepted Yohji's offer. It was far too late to back out now, though, so he continued to follow Yohji down the hallway.

…

Yohji listened to the sounds of Aya's boots falling behind him and had to force himself not to visibly wince as he heard a muffled sound of disgust as the redhead avoided a particularly noxious spot on the floor. When Aya had announced that he wanted to go out, Yohji had immediately known he couldn't take the quiet redhead to any of the larger clubs he frequented. Those clubs were largely comprised of writhing masses of people illuminated in contorted flashes by pulsing strobe lights and punctuated by the teeth-rattling thudding of bass and the shriek of electric guitar. While Yohji occasionally enjoyed the anonymity afforded by these clubs, he knew that Aya would most certainly not feel the same way. He'd been momentarily at a loss – there weren't a great many "quiet" clubs in Tokyo. Then he'd thought of Felicitas, and had known immediately that the club would be perfect. He was beginning to regret his decision, though. Aya was clearly far from impressed. The weight of Aya's silent disapproval making him slightly desperate, Yohji increased his pace, and almost laughed with relief when he turned the corner and found himself standing in front of a plain metal door that was almost completely obscured by the bulk of a very large, very muscular, blonde man. The man's craggy face split into a huge, gold spangled, grin when he recognized Yohji. "Yohji-san! We haven't seen you in awhile. Someone been keeping you busy?"

Yohji returned the grin. "There are just so many lonely ladies out there, and I am far too much of a gentleman to deny any of them my company."

Aya chose that moment to step forward, and Yohji responded to the big man's inquiring glance. "This is Aya. He'll be my guest tonight."

The man nodded and shouldered the door open. Beyond the door was another hallway, this one far more well-appointed than the one they had just traversed.

"Your 'guest'?" Aya's quiet, inflectionless, voice ghosted from the air just behind his right shoulder as they moved down the hallway, the sounds of their feet muffled on the plush carpet.  
"Yeah. You can't just wander into this place. The owners try to keep it under the popular radar. The cheap sign and the gross hallway help, Hans takes care of the rest."  
Yohji felt a slight gust of air against the back of his neck and guessed that Aya had nodded. He was going to let the redhead know that nodding wasn't a particularly good way of conveying information to someone who couldn't see you, but was distracted when he arrived at the final door that led into the main body of the club. Yohji pushed the door open and sighed with pleasure at the comfortable rush of familiar sights, smells and sounds.  
Aya stepped up beside Yohji as the blonde stopped just inside the door. Yohji took a sidelong glance at the redhead, and was pleased to see Aya's long violet eyes widen slightly as he looked around. "I told you the inside was nicer. Let's get a drink." As the two men made their  
way to the bar Yohji had to pause several times to greet acquaintances seated on delicate stools arranged in clusters around ultra-modern sculpted metal tables. He saw several more people he recognized seated in the plush couches and chairs scattered around the edges of the rooms and several more out on the dance floor, but these people were more absorbed in their partners than the ones at the tables and Yohji didn't attempt to catch their attention.  
The bar was crowded, but as soon as the petite bartender saw Yohji she abandoned the draft she was pulling and bounded over to the blonde, much to the annoyance of the man who had been waiting for his beer.

"Yohji! Where have you been! Keiko , Amika, and I were beginning to think you'd forgotten all about us!" The girl set her lips in a good imitation of an angry pout, but her brown eyes were dancing with merriment. Falling easily back into the empty banter, Yohji clutched theatrically at his chest. "Kourin! You wound me. As if I could ever forget about someone with legs as beautiful as yours." Kourin laughed. "Alright, I'll forgive you this time." The laugher in her eyes faded, and was replaced with a look of hungry speculation. "Who's your friend?" Predictably, she had noticed Aya, who was standing silently next to Yohji, fairly radiating discomfort. She wasn't the only one, there had been more than a few gazes marking Yohji and Aya's progress to the bar, and as much as it hurt his vanity to admit it, Yohji knew the stares weren't directed at him.

Reacting instinctively, Yohji placed a proprietary hand on Aya's arm and shot Kourin a glare that would have done Aya proud. Kourin interpreted the look correctly, and her pout returned, but this time it was genuine. Yohji felt the muscles in Aya's arm tense under his hand and hastily pulled his hand away. He was very, very glad that Aya's katana was back at the flower shop; the act of laying hands on Aya did not often go unpunished. His responses to the  
redhead were becoming dangerous, Yohji realized. Diverting fan girls was one thing, behaving like a possessive boyfriend was something completely different. It was also damned inconvenient: by annoying Kourin he'd probably just forfeited the premier service that over a year of generous tipping and flirting had earned him. The now sulky Kourin accepted his and Aya's drink orders with bad grace and, as he watched her flounce off, Yohji knew they would lucky if the drinks arrived within the next hour.  
The drinks did arrive, eventually, although they were thumped down on the bar with rather more force than was necessary so that some of the liquid sloshed and spilled down the sides of the glasses. Regarding the now sticky mess with resignation, Yohji looked around without much hope for some napkins, and was unsurprised to see that his section of the bar was completely napkin-free. With some distaste, Yohji picked up the glasses and proffered one to Aya, who eyed the brown concoction with suspicion. "Hey, you ordered it," Yohji reminded him. Which was true, but Yohji had known full well that Aya had no idea what to order at a bar, and he'd chosen his drink knowing that Aya would just order the same. "And besides, a Long Island Iced Tea is an excellent choice."  
Not convinced, Aya continued to study the drink. "What's in it?"  
"Oh, this and that," Yohji replied evasively. "Just try it."  
Giving Yohji another suspicious glance, Aya raised the glass to his lips.

…

The surface beneath him was vibrating slightly, and the side of his forehead was pressed against something smooth and cool. The coolness felt good against his hot skin, and he shifted, trying to press more of his burning forehead against the surface. This proved surprisingly difficult, since his body didn't seem to want to move properly, and he gave a small moan of frustration as his head slid a few inches downwards. Something was shaking his shoulder and he wanted it to stop. He tried to slap at the thing, but his arm didn't work right either and he felt it hit against something metallic and then fall back into his lap. He heard noises, buzzing like bees, and he wanted them to stop too. One of the bees got louder and louder and he realized it was a voice. Yohji's voice. He was in Yohji's car. What was he doing in Yohji's car? Maybe Yohji was trying to tell him. He tried to listen, but the words jumbled around in his head and he couldn't make sense of them. Dimly he was aware that the thing beneath him had stopped vibrating, and then the cool surface was abruptly pulled away. He slipped sideways, but something large and warm caught and held him. The bees were buzzing again and he could feel himself moving, but the warm thing was still holding him, so that was alright. Then he was lying on something soft that wasn't moving. The word "bed" floated into his mind, but he knew that wasn't right. His bed wasn't soft like this, and it didn't smell like Yohji. _Yohji_. the name seemed important. For some reason he thought he should be very angry with Yohji, but he couldn't work out why. Maybe if he rested for a minute it would come to him.

…

Yohji looked down at the sleeping redhead lying in his bed and did frantic mental calculations. If he left now, he could be at the airport in an hour. It was the middle of the night, but there was bound to be a flight leaving for somewhere within the next hour or two. Yohji didn't care where the plane was going, just that it put as many continents as possible between him and the redhead who was surely going to wake-up with murder on his mind. Yohji was under no illusions that Aya's refusal to compromise the effectiveness Weiss would protect him now, and rapid flight seemed to be his only chance for survival. Unless, of course, Aya was willing to be reasonable about this little mishap. It seemed unlikely, but maybe if Yohji explained that he hadn't really meant to get Aya drunk, and claimed that he really hadn't known that Long Island Iced Tea's were so alcoholic, or that Aya had such a low tolerance, Aya would understand. Yohji gave the unconscious Aya another glance. Aya seemed softer in sleep, less coldly distant. It was possible that he might understand. Yohji didn't really want to leave the country, there were Omi and Ken to consider, and Kritiker would probably have him hunted down and killed if he abandoned Weiss, even if he explained the extenuating circumstances. And then there was Aya himself. The thought of leaving Aya behind, even a bloodthirsty, homicidal, Aya, made Yohji's breath catch in his throat. With a sigh of regret at his own folly, Yohji sat down in his armchair to wait for the redhead to wake up. Then he had a thought that sent him up out of the chair and bolting down the stairs to the mission room. He carefully removed Aya's katana from the weapons locker and looked around for a hiding place. He was hoping that Aya would be reasonable, but he wasn't counting on it.

…

Another Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter, if you are bummed that there wasn't more in-the-club action, I promise there will be a recap in the next section. I don't do so well with the whole linear progression thing. Please review if you have a moment – I'm concerned that this chapter didn't come out too well and I would really appreciate your feedback, either positive or negative.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's note: once again, I wanted to say thank you to all of my reviewers! I appreciate all of your comments so much, and really makes my day to hear that someone is enjoying the story. I do want to apologize for the most recent long interval between updates. The past two weeks have been really busy for me, but things should be calming down in the next day or two so I should be able to start getting the chapters out more quickly again. On another note, I may be increasing the r on this fic sometime in the next few chapters, so you might have to venture into the section of the site if you want to keep reading. I'm also still in the market for a Beta reader, so if you are interested please let me know. I'd be more than happy to beta your stuff in return.  
Thank you again reviewers!

…

Awareness returned slowly, too slowly. An assassin could not afford to have his mind clouded at any time, not even during the shift from sleep to wakefulness. Aya usually made the transition instantaneously, and as he hovered between the two states on this particular waking he slowly regained enough presence of mind to distantly recognize that his present condition was out of the ordinary. He couldn't seem to make himself care very much, though, and absently shifted one of his legs into a more comfortable position. Then a thought struck him that brought him instantly and completely awake. When he had moved his leg the surface he was laying on had given way beneath it and had cradled it in soft warmth. His own bed was furnished with the cheapest mattress he could find. It had approximately the same consistency as a slab of granite, and his sheets, also the cheapest he could find, were about as soft as pieces of burlap. Therefore, he was not in his bed and he realized with a twinge of alarm that he had no idea where he _was_. In his career as an assassin, Aya had woken up in unexpected locations on exactly two occasions, both times before he had been transferred to Weiss. The first time he'd come awake screaming on a flea-infested mattress in a dingy roadside motel. Two of his Crashers teammates had been holding him down while Knight tried desperately so stitch together the mangled mess that had once been Aya's midsection and right leg. The second time his waking had been even less pleasant. His physical condition had been a bit less critical, but the people holding him down had not been friends.

Aya shuddered slightly at the memory and forced himself to keep his eyes closed and his breathing even while he assessed his situation. He felt no sign of the all-too-familiar fierce pain that signaled serious injury. He'd had no difficulty moving his leg, and he didn't feel either the metallic weight of chains or the chaffing constriction of rope around his ankles, which suggested his feet were unbound. The same seemed to be true of his hands, and the soft material beneath him seemed to be a mattress that was significantly nicer than his own. Since enemies rarely bothered to waste luxurious featherbeds on their captives, and anyone skilled enough to capture an assassin must surely have been aware that leaving him unbound was the sheerest folly, Aya concluded with some relief that he did not appear to be in enemy hands. His largest concern now eliminated, Aya took the time to assess his bodily status more carefully and realized that, while largely intact, his body was nonetheless making a number of complaints. There was a throbbing ache behind his eyelids, his stomach was churning, and his mouth felt as though it hadn't been visited by a toothbrush in years. Had he been drugged? That would certainly account for why he couldn't seem to remember how he'd arrived at his present location. His momentary relief at the discovery that he didn't seem to be a captive evaporated and he frantically tried to recall something, anything, to explain why he was not in his own bed.

He remembered going to see his sister and then going back to the apartment where he'd met Yohji in the hallway. _Yohji_! With the name came a string of images that flashed jaggedly through his still fuzzy mind. A florescent sign with some of the lights burned out, Yohji flirting with a smiling bartender; Yohji's hand like a hot iron on his arm; the same bartender, no longer smiling, bringing two glasses, then two more, then two more; Yohji's laughter when he'd said he couldn't drink any more; gulping a drink like Ken gulped his Gatorade, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and heat, to show Yohji that he could –  
A pair of furious amethyst eyes snapped open.

…

Yohji had known Aya was only pretending to be asleep for the past few minutes, so he wasn't taken completely by surprise when the redhead's eyes opened and fastened immediately on him. Even so, the anger flaring in those incredible violet eyes made him rock back in his chair. He swallowed abruptly, his mouth suddenly gone dry. Aya was definitely _not_ going to be reasonable.

"You son of a bitch." Aya's words were little more than a growl, and Yohji was very glad he had secreted Aya's katana amongst the fronds of the large, hideous, potted fern that Omi had installed in the mission room in a misguided attempt to, as he put it, "brighten up the place".  
The redhead immediately set to extracting himself from the bedcovers, and Yohji winced as an audible rip announced the destruction of his Egyptian cotton top-sheet. Thinking it prudent to put a little distance between himself and the man who seemed intent on destroying his bed, Yohji stood rapidly from his chair, knocked it over in his haste, and then tripped over the jutting legs. When he'd disentangled himself from the chair he raised one hand in a useless gesture of placation and backed slowly towards the wall while trying desperately to think of something to say that would calm the furious redhead. Unfortunately, said redhead was in no mood to be calmed. Before Yohji managed a single word, Aya was free of the wreckage of the bed and was advancing on blonde with his fists clenched and his eyes murderous.  
"How dare you! What were you -" Aya's tirade was cut abruptly short as he clapped a hand to his mouth. The small part of Yohji's mind that wasn't frozen in terror marveled at the way Aya's fair skin managed, impossibly, to pale a shade further. Aya's eyes widened in surprise and he stared at Yohji for a moment, eyes filled with impotent fury, before spinning around and dashing out of the room.

Yohji sagged against the wall in relief. Down the hall, he heard the bathroom door slam shut, and a few seconds later he heard the muffled but unmistakable sounds of retching. While the sounds of someone vomiting weren't usually high on Yohji's list of favorite noises, on this particular occasion he thought he'd never heard a more welcome sound in his life. If Aya's hangover had him too sick to stand, he was probably also going to be too sick to try and kill Yohji. Nevertheless, Yohji resolved to steer very clear of the bathroom for the time being; razors, while not as threatening as a katana, were still quite sharp.

Heaving himself off the wall, Yohji went back over to his bed and surveyed the damage. As he examined the wreckage of his sheets he wondered what had possessed him to deposit the unconscious Aya in this bed rather than in the redhead's own. He supposed he had been feeling guilty. He'd known that Aya hadn't had much experience with alcohol, and he'd known perfectly well how strong Long Island Iced Teas were, but he'd pressed the redhead to consume round after round anyway. He hadn't been able to help himself. He'd manipulated Aya into ordering the first drink because he'd been curious about the effect the alcohol would have on the stiff, silent, swordsman. Then he'd seen that effect and he'd begun ordering drink after drink frantically, terrified that if he stopped plying Aya with alcohol it would disappear. The changes in the redhead had been subtle. He hadn't suddenly developed an urge to dance on top the bar, or even to dance on the dance floor, much to the collective disappointment of the other club-goers. He did, however, relax at least a portion of the iron control that he generally imposed on his every movement, look, and word. Yohji had watched transfixed as Aya's rigid posture had melted, slowly, almost imperceptibly, into a comfortable slouch. Even his jaw, generally clenched so tightly that Yohji had often suspected he gave himself migraines, had relaxed slightly, and his lips which were almost always pressed into a hard, disapproving, line had softened into tantalizing curves. The alcohol had also given his cheeks a delicate flush, and the more he drank the more often he forgot to glare. Yohji had barely been able to keep himself from staring like an infatuated schoolboy. However, this physical transformation, although certainly welcome, was not what had Yohji spending such an ungodly sum on rounds and rounds of drinks. Yohji had ordered the drinks because about three quarters of the way through the first Long Island Aya had started talking to him.

Yohji had become so used to carrying on one sided conversations with the redhead that he'd almost fallen off his bar stool in surprise when one of his rambling comments had met with a response. Not a grunt or a derisive snort, but an actual, thoughtful, response. Yohji had cautiously offered another comment and that too had received a response. Much to Yohji's astonishment, an actual conversation had ensued. The topics they'd covered had been carefully neutral and did not touch on anything remotely personal, but Yohji was astonished to find that, for all his usual reticence, Aya was a very entertaining conversationalist. He had read practically everything, and while Yohji was not nearly so erudite he did enjoy the occasional novel which the two were able to discuss. The two younger members of Weiss were also subjects of conversaton, and Yohji was astonished to find that the distant redhead who seemed to have no interest whatsoever in his teammates' personal lives was aware of such details as the subject of Omi's latest school project and the wins/losses record of Ken's team of soccer-kids. Then, an indeterminate number of Long Islands into the night, Aya had actually smiled. It was a small smile, in fact it was little more than a twitch of his lip, but Yohji hadn't thought Aya was physically capable of smiling. That smile had done funny things to Yohji's stomach, and he'd found himself wondering if he was catching a glimpse of the Aya that might have existed had the redhead not gotten mixed up with Kritiker. He'd felt a flash of anger at Kritiker, for casually destroying, or at least burying very deeply, a personality that, if this night was any indication, might have been a good deal less forbidding than the one he and the rest of Weiss had come to know. Unfortunately, the night had then come to a sudden end. As Yohji had sat musing, Aya had taken advantage of the lull in the conversation to quietly topple off of his stool. Yohji had caught him before he hit the ground and as he'd driven home with the unconscious redhead slumped in the seat beside him he'd reflected on his royal stupidity. He'd been so intrigued by the glimpses he'd seen of the personality that was usually buried beneath layers and layers of chilly indifference that he'd completely abandoned his common sense and had gotten Aya passed-out drunk. So, in some small attempt to atone, Yohji had given up his bed for the redhead.

As Yohji pulled the mess of torn sheets off his bed he reflected ruefully that he should have known Aya wouldn't thank him for his sacrifice. He should probably also have known better than to be actually in the room with the redhead when he woke. He had known better, actually, but as he'd looked at the sleeping redhead he had found himself unable to move from the bed-side chair, despite the threat of early morning evisceration. He heard another retching sound from the bathroom, and his guilt, momentarily displaced by his annoyance at the destruction of his sheets, crept back. Aya wouldn't have been in such a state if it hadn't been for his pushing. With a sigh, Yohji dumped his ruined sheet into the trash and made his way down to the kitchen, being careful to give the closed bathroom door a wide berth. Having quite a bit of experience with hangovers himself, he had long ago perfected a morning-after remedy that always eased his symptoms. Right now, he figured Aya could use a glass.

Yohji had to wait in the hallway holding the glass of tomato juice, raw egg, and assorted other substances that it was best not to identify, for close to 45 minutes before the bathroom door opened. Aya looked horrible. He clung to the doorframe for support and his hair hung in lank strands around his ashen face. The fury in his eyes had been veiled in a fog of exhaustion but when he saw Yohji waiting for him the ashes of the anger began smoldering once more, and Yohji began to reconsider the wisdom of his plan. Before his courage could desert him entirely, Yohji stepped forward and held the glass out to Aya. The redhead took it reflexively and looked at it without comprehension. Yohji stepped hurriedly back out of range and explained.

"It will help with the stomach, and with the headache I bet you have. It tastes like old socks, but it's worth it. Trust me."

Then he had to dive to the side to avoid the flung glass the hit the wall in exactly the spot his head had been a moment before. The glass shattered and the mixture oozed a thick, dull-red, trail down the wall.

Aya's voice was low and full of menace as he spoke. "If you think I'm _ever_ going to make the mistake of drinking anything you give me again, then all the drinking we did last night must finally have killed off the few brain-cells you had left." Aya gave Yohji the kind of look that is generally reserved for the lowest scum of society, and Yohji's own temper flared.  
"Dammit Aya! I'm sorry you're sick, but I don't remember anyone holding a gun to your head and forcing you to drink. You were the one who wanted to come out with me, remember?"  
Aya's fists clenched. "You lied to me about the drinks"  
"I just wanted you to loosen up a little. I figured you needed it, or else you wouldn't have wanted to go out!" Yohji rubbed lifted one hand to his temple and rubbed it in frustration. "I figured you needed to have some fun."  
"What the hell would you know about what I need?" Aya's eyes were chips of purple ice, and his fingers tightened on the door frame.  
Yohji lifted both hands skyward in a silent plea for patience. "Maybe nothing. It's not as though you would, oh I don't know, actually TELL anyone if you needed something, but Christ Aya, if you don't let someone help you every once in awhile -"  
Yohji stopped talking and dropped into a defensive crouch as Aya lunged at him. Fortunately for Yohji, Aya was not in anything remotely resembling top form, and the blonde was able to deflect the punch Aya aimed at his midsection. He used the momentum of Aya's lunge to spin the redhead into the opposite wall, and took advantage Aya's momentary confusion to protect himself from further punches by using a simple but effective arm-lock to secure the redhead's arms behind his back.  
"Now just calm down! Even if this was a good idea, you are in no condition to be fighting!" Yohji nearly shouted the words, even though the volume was completely unnecessary since his lips were almost touching Aya's ear. Aya then proceeded to prove Yohji's assessment of his fighting capabilities painfully wrong by snapping his head backwards with brutal force into Yohji's face. Yohji let go of Aya's arms with a yelp and clutched a hand to his now-bleeding nose. Fortunately, the head butt did not seem to have done Aya's hangover much good either, and instead of attacking again Aya stumbled to the wall and pressed a hand to the back of his skull. They were still standing like that when Omi pounded up the stairs a moment later.

Omi's blue eyes widened as he took in the strange tableau. His gaze lingered for a moment on the broken glass and on Yohji's gushing nose. His mouth opened and shut several times, but he seemed unable to make a sound. Finally, the silence became too much for Yohji's frayed nerves, and he snapped harsh inquiry around the hand that still clutched his nose. "What?"  
Omi started slightly, and seemed to give himself a mental shake. He looked at the two older assassins with eyes suddenly focused and cool, and Yohji knew what he was going to say.  
"Mission."

…  
AN: I hope you enjoyed the chapter, but whether you did or not please review! I appreciate any feedback, be it positive or negative.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's note: Thank you again to all of my reviewers! You guys are fantastic, and I really appreciate your comments. I've decided that it's time for some individual thank you's, and if you've reviewed please look for those at the bottom of the fic (they take up a fair bit of room and I didn't want to make all unconcerned parties scroll all the way through). I hope you enjoy the chapter.

…

To make certain that Yohji understood that he was by no means forgiven, Aya made a point of stomping angrily down the stairs. Well, he tried to. The first "thud" of his foot on a stair made him feel like his head was about to split open, and the second made him wish that it had. After that, he decided that the show of temper wasn't worth the stabbing pain it was causing in his temples, and descended the rest of the stairs to the mission room in his usual silent fashion. Of course, neither Yohji nor Omi had throbbing heads to consider, and the sounds of their footfalls as they followed Aya down the stairs rang like gongs in his head. Aya gritted his teeth, set his shoulders in a rigid line, and recited every single curse knew under his breath, directing all of them at Yohji. It was Yohji's fault his head felt as though it was going to burst open like an overripe melon, Yohji's fault he had spent the last hour crouched over a toilet while his stomach spasmed and voided its contents, Yohji's fault that he had made a complete fool of himself with his ill advised and, oh gods, _clumsy_, attack on the blonde –

Aya paused in his mental tirade. Even from within his rationale-deadening miasma of anger, Aya knew his last accusation was of somewhat questionable truthfulness, and that the blame for that particular bit of idiocy might lie somewhat closer to home. Yohji hadn't asked to be attacked, after all, and all he'd done was talk. It wasn't really Yohji's fault that Aya was inexplicably terrified of listening to the blonde. No, that couldn't be Yohji's fault, because Aya's terror had nothing to do with the words the blonde was saying and everything to do with his own reaction to those words. When Yohji had told him that he needed to ask for help, the suggestion should have been laughable. But it hadn't been. For a fraction of a second, Aya had wanted to believe Yohji, had wanted to ask Yohji for help. For help bearing the pain, the anger, and the burning need for revenge that was consuming him from the inside, turning him into an empty husk of the person he had once been. The desire existed for less than an eye-blink, and then Aya had savagely crushed it the only way he knew how: with raging anger and violence. He'd lunged for Yohji, intent on silencing the source of that moment of weakness. He couldn't allow himself any weaknesses; he needed to be strong if he was to avenge his sister. He'd given in to weakness last night when he'd told Yohji he'd go out with him, and look where that had gotten him. As he reviewed the incident, he realized with a twinge of guilt that Yohji had made a fair point when he'd claimed that it had been Aya's idea to go out. It had been his own desire to stop the pain that had convinced him to go with Yohji, and this morning, angry with himself for allowing that flash of weakness to land him in such a state, he'd been taking his ire out on Yohji. Yohji had lied about the drinks, though. Or, at least he hadn't been very forthcoming about their nature. Pleased that there still seemed to be at least one thing he could still in good conscience blame on Yohji, Aya clung to that thought and allowed his simmering anger to shield him from other, more dangerous, emotions.

Two pairs of startled eyes met his narrowed ones as he descended the last of the spiral stairs leading to the mission room, and Aya suddenly realized that he was still wearing the outfit he'd worn to the club the night before. He might have turned and bolted back up the stairs, but Yohji and Omi were behind him blocking the escape route. Clenching his teeth even tighter, he lifted his chin in mute defiance and tried to ignore the warmth he could feel spreading across his cheekbones. He cast a defiant glace at Manx and Ken who were staring unabashedly, and stalked to his customary briefing position against the wall with as much aplomb as he could manage given that he was dressed like a prostitute, had greasy, unwashed, hair, and to top it all off, was blushing. He never blushed. As he sank into the shadows that veiled the rear of the mission room Aya relaxed minutely. He'd always chosen to stand against the wall during briefings because the shadows saved him the trouble of maintaining an impassive demeanor in the face of some of the images that flashed on the screen, but he didn't think he'd ever been more grateful for the concealing gloom than he was today.

Yohji and Omi took their seats without fanfare, although Yohji turned his head to give the shadows by the staircase a brief, unreadable, glance before facing Manx and the video screen. Manx had finally stopped staring and, pulling a disc from her purse inserted it into the reader. It took her three tries to feed the disc in properly, and Aya wondered what the problem was. The machine was easy to load, and Manx had never had any difficulty with it before. Any further musing he might have done on the subject was curtailed by the appearance of the familiar, backlit, form of Persia on the screen.

"Men of Weiss, your target is the leader of a drug production company called Ekstase. The company employs a team of brilliant, morally questionable, scientists to create variants of the most powerful, dangerous, drugs that are already on the streets. The new drugs are stronger and more addictive than the drugs already in circulation, and in some cases just one or two doses is enough to make a person willing to do absolutely anything to get another dose. To create effective drugs, the scientists need subjects on whom to test their formulas and they've found that, while mice initially make decent test subjects, in the final refinement stages human tests are much more effective. Unfortunately for the humans so chosen, these tests often have unpleasant results."

Persia's figure disappeared and was replaced by a series of images that flashed quickly across the screen. A young man, eyes wide and staring, his bared arms and torso covered in weeping sores; a middle-aged woman, mouth opened in a scream as blood gushed like torrents of red tears from her eyes; a young girl, barely more than a child, body laced with angry, bloody, welts that, given the state of her fingernails, she must have torn into her own flesh. The pictures kept coming, and Aya had to fight down his gorge. His teammates seemed to be similarly affected: Yohji's mouth was pressed into an angry line, Ken was flexing his hands, unconsciously miming the motion of driving metal bugnucks into muscle and bone, and Omi's blue eyes were wet with tears.

Finally, the pictures disappeared and Persia reappeared. "The test subjects are mostly people abducted from the streets and homeless shelters, and a few come from the lower-end neighborhoods. No one really misses them, so the police haven't spent much time investigating the disappearances. Initially, the company was hiring freelance criminals to do the kidnapping, but since they've gotten a few of their drugs ready to use and into the market they've had plenty of people willing to trade a friend or relative for their next fix."

Another image appeared on the screen, this time of a tall, dark-haired, man impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, and Persia continued. "Seito Tanaka. Kritiker intelligence has determined that he is the senior researcher for Ekstase here in Tokyo. Tanaka, however, is not in control of the organization. He takes orders from someone, but communication is so heavily guarded that Kritiker agents have not been able to determine his contact's identity. Weiss, it is your mission to identify this leader who hides in the shadows and wipe his taint from the earth. Hunters of the night…"

Aya stopped listening as Persia gave his usual flowery injunction. The language the man used was almost as irksome as the cat and flower code names he'd seen fit to saddle Weiss with. Perhaps Persia thought he sounded impressive when he spoke of "shadowy leaders" and "dark beasts", but Aya just thought he sounded ridiculous. Bombastic language aside, though, Aya had a very uneasy feeling about this mission. There was definitely something Persia wasn't telling them.

…

"Hunters of the night…" Yohji tuned out the rest of the familiar phrase. If he ever met Persia, he and the man were going to have words about that obnoxious closing remark. As the screen went dark, Yohji looked over to his two younger teammates and was relieved to see that they seemed to be feeling as apprehensive as he was about this mission. Ken was frowning slightly and Omi's brow was creased in worry. Aya was too well hidden in the shadows by the stairs for Yohji to see what he thought. With a rueful smile Yohji reflected that it was probably for the best that he couldn't see Aya's expression. While Aya would have been completely focused on the mission while Persia's message was running, now that the briefing was over he was probably giving Yohji deadly looks, or worse, was back to pretending Yohji didn't exist. Yohji could do without seeing either of those things. Forcing his mind of a certain sulky redhead, Yohji tried to focus on more pressing matters, like why on earth Persia had given them this mission. Fortunately, there was someone here who could answer him. He opened his mouth to ask Manx what the hell was going on, but Omi beat him to it.

"Manx, what's going on? Weiss doesn't do this type of mission. This is going to take prolonged surveillance and at least one of us is probably going to have to make contact with Tanaka. We're not PI's, well Yohji was once, but the that was a long time ago, and if Kritiker's intelligence couldn't handle this, what makes Persia think we can?"  
"Yeah," Ken jumped in. "Our missions are usually slash-and-dash jobs, and that's the way I like it."

Yohji winced at Ken's blunt description. He liked to think that they had a bit more finesse than that. The soccer player did have a point though. Weiss's missions didn't generally involve a whole lot of information-gathering. They had Kritiker for that, and their strengths lay elsewhere.

Yohji looked at Manx as he waited for her to answer, and was surprised to see the generally unflappable woman blushing nervously, her downcast eyes fixed on the purse strap she was nervously twisting through her fingers. She couldn't still be blushing over Aya, could she? Yohji had seen the way she'd gone pink when she'd seen Aya's outfit, and had noted with malicious glee that her blushing skin clashed fiercely with her scarlet hair. She'd been so distracted by Aya that Yohji was surprised that the disc from Persia had remained intact after her repeated and clumsy attempts to jam it into the player at illogical angles.

Yohji looked at Manx more closely and decided that she wasn't in fact still blushing about Aya. Instead, she looked liked someone who had unpleasant news to impart and wasn't looking forward to the task. His suspicion became certainty as Manx took a fortifying breath and looked at each of the Weiss members before speaking.

"Persia knows this is an unusual mission," she began, her voice even despite her apparent unease. "But Weiss has certain…characteristics…that may help you complete this mission. Kritiker has tried everything else, and everything else has failed. Tanaka and his employer are far too careful. Weiss is our last chance."  
"What 'characteristics' does Weiss have that the rest of the Kritiker agents don't?", Yohji asked in a lazy drawl. "Besides our good looks of course." He shot Manx a flirtatious grin which slowly faded when she didn't smile back.  
Realization sunk in slowly as he stared at Manx's solemn visage.  
"You can't be serious," he said flatly.  
Manx signed and ran a hand through her red curls. Ken and Omi watched her wide-eyed, looking like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.  
"Tanaka has certain…appetites. The Kritiker agents tailing him were able to discover that much. It might be the only way to get close to him. God knows we've tried everything else."  
Yohji exploded. "No way! No fucking way! When I signed on with Kritiker, I distinctly remember checking the box marked 'Assassin', not the box marked 'Whore'!" Yohji had no qualms about sleeping around on his own time, but he was not about to let Kritiker have control of that aspect of his life. Not when they had control of everything else.  
Manx cut in, her voice steely. "If I recall correctly, and believe me, I do, you "signed on" to do whatever was necessary to complete the mission. And believe me when I say that this is necessary. Besides, your opinion on the matter doesn't matter very much, since you won't be the one 'whoring', as you so delicately put it. You're not his type."  
Yohji blinked in surprise. He'd just assumed that he'd be the one expected to seduce the target. Omi was too young, Ken was too clumsy, and Aya…well, anyone who suggested that Aya seduce anyone on command would have to be suicidal. And what was this nonsense about Yohji not being Tanaka's "type"? Yohji was everyone's type. With one notable exception, an exception who was probably at this moment trying to see if he could physically burn holes in Yohji's skin with the force of his glare, Yohji had never met anyone he couldn't seduce. His outrage at being asked to prostitute himself for Kritiker immediately transformed into outrage at _not_ being asked to prostitute himself.  
"What do you mean I'm not his type? If I'm not his type then who the hell is?" Even as Yohji asked, he knew the answer, and he didn't turn to follow Manx's gaze as her focus shifted from him to the shadows in the back of the room.  
"Abyssinian." She spoke the codename quietly, almost as though she didn't want Aya to hear. A sensible ddesire, Yohji thought. It was lucky for Manx that Yohji hadn't returned Aya's katana to the weapon's locker. Although, Yohji realized with some alarm, at the moment Aya temper wasn't the only one Manx should be worrying about. Yohji's anger when he'd thought Manx wanted him to seduce the target was as nothing compared with how he felt now that he knew she wanted _Aya_ to do it. He reached reflexively for his wire, but felt only a bare wrist. The wire was upstairs on his bedside table; this really was Manx's lucky day.  
"No." The word came out a growl, and Manx looked back to Yohji in surprise.  
Before Manx could reprimand him, Omi spoke up.  
"Manx, there must be some other way to get the information. His apartment, or his office, or somewhere in the lab, there must be something -" Omi trailed off as Manx shook her head.  
"Don't you think Kritiker has tried that?" Manx asked bitterly. "Agents have checked the apartment and the office and the lab, no easy tasks, mind you, and there's nothing there. We need someone to get to know him, get them to trust him. That's the only way we can get the information we need."  
"Well, then let someone get to know him in some other way!" Yohji all but snarled. Manx sighed and spoke very slowly, as a person would to a particularly dim child. "Kritiker. Has. Tried." Seeming to believe she had made her point, she resumed speaking at a normal speed. "He doesn't trust anyone. Kritiker had an agent hired on as one of Tanaka's scientists, and he worked in the lab for six months without even speaking to Tanaka. We need to establish more…intimate contact."  
That was it. Yohji surged out of his chair hands raised and ready to go around that slender throat.  
"Yohji!" Aya's angry shout stopped him. He didn't think he'd have stopped for anything else. He continued to glare at Manx, who had wisely moved so that a table was between her and the blonde. Not that it would do her much good if she made any more comments about "intimate contact", Yohji thought grimly. But, for the moment, Yohji held still. Aya pushed himself off the wall, and his face was abruptly visible in the basement's shaky yellow light.

"Shut up, all of you," Aya said, his voice emotionless. "I'll do it."

Then he turned and climbed up the stairs, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Manx was the first to recover her aplomb. "Well, I take it Abyssinian is in. Can I say the same for the rest of you?" The three assassins nodded their assent, and Manx pulled a thick file from her briefcase and set it on the coffee table. "All Kritiker's information is in there. Good luck," she said, and left them.

The three remaining assassins looked at the file and then at each other. Another minute went by in silence before Omi tentatively asked, "Yohji? Why did you get so upset when, I mean when, well, you know."

Yohji didn't really blame the kid for not wanting to say it. He was probably afraid he'd set Yohji off again. With an effort, Yohji managed to muster up one of his flippant grins. "Well, you know how Aya is. He'll probably gut Tanaka if the guy lays so much as a finger on his arm, and then will we be? And besides, Manx insulted me. As if anyone would rather sleep with Aya than with me. It's an all-around ridiculous plan."

Omi's blue eyes were narrowed knowingly, but after a long moment he nodded, accepting Yohji's flimsy explanation without argument. Yohji breathed an inward sigh of relief. He didn't want to think too closely about why he was so angry about Aya's assignment, and he was most certainly not ready to share his feelings with Omi and Ken.

"I wonder why he said he'd do it?" Ken said thoughtfully.

"I don't know," Yohji said softly, more to himself than to Ken. He'd been sure Aya would refuse the assignment, and the fact that the redhead hadn't, and hadn't even shown any reaction to news that he was going to have to engage in "intimate contact" at Kritiker's behest. He would have felt a lot better if Aya had tried to kill Manx, or him, or anyone. His feelings of unease growing, Yohji abandoned his two younger teammates and ran upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He reached the bedroom level and looked around, not certain what he'd expected to find. The hallway looked as it always had, although it did have a new and truly spectacular red stain streaking down the white paint of the wall opposite the bathroom. Aya's door, of course, was firmly shut. Yohji slumped against the wall and put his head in his hands. He was probably just nervous because he was tired. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night; chairs, he'd discovered, make very poor beds. Resolving to remedy that situation, Yohji started for his bedroom before remembering he'd pulled all the sheets off his bed because Aya had torn them practically to shreds a few hours ago. He had other sheets, but he was rather behind on his laundry and they were all dirty. Yohji grabbed his laundry basket with a groan, and headed to the laundry room on the ground floor. He dumped his sheets into the washer and, just as he was about to switch the machine on, cast a speculative glance at the ceiling. Unless he was mistaken, the laundry room was right underneath Aya's bedroom. On top of the washing machine was a jar of change that had been left in various pockets and had later been rescued from the machine's bottom. With a grin, Yohji grabbed a handful of coins and dumped them into the machine with his sheets. He turned the washer on, and was delighted with the deafening rattle that ensued as the coins were thrown against the metal sides of the machine. If he didn't get to sleep, then Aya damn well wasn't going to sleep either.

…

AN: I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please review! I didn't get much of a response from the last chapter, and I'm concerned that people are no longer enjoying the story. If that's the case, please tell me! I don't want to keep going if no one is enjoying it. I'm also very happy to accept suggestions if you don't like the way things are going! So, please review!

And now for my reviewers:

**Comtess**: My most loyal reviewer! I can't thank you enough for your consistent reviews, and I really enjoy hearing what you have to say. I especially like your specific comments about what you liked, it's really helpful to hear what works well. I was especially glad to hear that you liked the club description – that bit caused me a fair bit of trouble since I've only ever been to the clubs that are a giant mosh pit (I'm not cool enough to get into the nice exclusive clubs), so I was kind of making things up as I went along. I was also glad to hear that you liked the repeating narratives in chapter 3, since I was worried that they might drag. On an unrelated note, I wanted to compliment you on your choice of pen-name, I've always been fond of French noble titles.

**DreamingToThis**: I'm glad you were enjoying at chapter one, and I hope you are still enjoying a few chapters on down the line. I am sorry though, I don't know that I'll be able to fulfill your Aya/Omi wish. Early in my Weiss fanfiction-reading days I came across a gigantic shrine of Aya/Yohji fics and I've been good for nothing else ever since. Sorry!

**darkAngel1090**: Thanks for your comments! I'm glad you think I'm keeping them in character – I worry about Aya. It's tough to keep him in character and to give him emotions at the same time. Thanks for the encouragement.

**Ptath**: I'm glad you liked the story enough to review! Thanks for the encouragement.

**Hyde-mo**: I'm very flattered that you doubted this was my first fic (it ). I've done a lot of academic writing, but very little creativeis, though writing, so I'm glad you think I'm doing a good job (unless I've screwed things up since your last review). Thanks for your very nice review, and I'm trying to get the chapters out as quickly as possible!

**the butler**: Thank you so much for your extremely thoughtful review. I'm very flattered that you took the time to write such an insightful review of my story, although I think you might be giving my writing abilities a bit too much credit. I definitely agree that this idea is not a terribly original one, I've encountered it many, many, times in Yohji/Aya fics, but it's one of my favorite plot devices, so I thought I'd give it a run in my first fic-attempt. I'm glad that you appreciated the fact that I didn't spend too much time on Yohji's wardrobe and on why he likes Aya – I've always thought those things were often overdone. There are only so many descriptions of skimpy shirts and rippling muscles that I can abide, and I've always felt that Yohji would be secure enough about his sexuality to know what he wants. I definitely agree with you that Yohji and Aya go well together, I think they compliment each other wonderfully. Aya silent and moody, Yohji's loud and teasing, etc. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

**MikaSamu**: I'm glad you liked the humor – I'm never sure if it will go over properly, so I'm glad someone appreciated it! Thanks for the review.

**Poe-chan**: Thanks for complimenting my writing. Unfortunately I have no original works. This is my first stab at creative writing (I've done lots of academic stuff), so I thought fanfiction would be a good way to get started since you don't have to work about making up characters, worlds, histories, etc. I hope you continue to enjoy the story, and thanks again for the review!

**Barbara Cheah**: Thanks for your thoughtful review. I agree with everything you said regarding the boys' backgrounds, I definitely think Aya is the most ill-adjusted of the four. He seems adjusted because he's so cold, but that just masks the fact that he's really a mess. I think that's why I love him so – I've always adored a good mess. I do promise to continue with the story, and I really am not a fan of seme Aya, so you've got nothing to worry about there.

**MangaMamma**: Thank you so much for your lovely review. I'm glad you liked hearing the characters opposing comments because I was seriously considering taking them out because I was concerned that having to read the same series of events twice would be boring. In the end, I thought it was more important to get the character development in there, so I left them in. I'm also glad you liked the third chapter. I was worried people would feel cheated by the jump over the action that they might have thought was going to be a major breakthrough in the character's relationship. Thanks again for the review!

**Bladderwrack:** I'm glad you liked the last line. I'm always a bit concerned that no one else will find my humor funny, so I'm glad you did. Thanks for the review!

**CaT70**: Thanks for the multiple reviews! I love it when people review more than once, because then I know that at least one person is still reading. I'm still plodding away at the keyboard, so more chapters are coming.

**Neuroticsquirrel**: I'm glad you liked the messy fight. I love messy fights. My all time favorite movie fight scene is the one between Hugh Grant and Colin firth in Bridget Jones Diary. I've always thought real life fights would be something like that: messy, uncoordinated, and completely ridiculous looking. Of course, Aya and Yohji are actually GOOD at fighting, so I had to give them some handicaps. Thanks for the review.

**Animegoil**: Thanks for the review – although I am a little curious to know what you don't like about my descriptions. Is it that there are not enough of them, or do you not like the way they are written? I do try to keep descriptions brief, because I figure that if you're reading Weiss fanfiction you already know what the characters look like. Also, I find that to wax poetic with description tends to sound very pretentious and just a bit silly unless you really, really know what you are doing. Since I don't claim to really know what I'm doing, I try to keep it fairly concrete.In regard to Aya and Ken's meeting – I think I know just about as much about it as you. I've also only seen the animes, but the meeting comes up in so many diverse fanfictions that I've just decided it must have happened somewhere. I also believe I read some online reference to it having occurred in one of those White Shaman comic books. Sorry I can't be of more help there, and I'm glad you are enjoying the story.

**Moimoi**, **Rosemarykiss**, and **Althelas**: thank you for reviewing, and I'm very glad to hear that you are enjoying the story!

Thanks again everybody!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's note: Hello again! First off, I would like to give a big thank you to all of my reviewers! You guys are fantastic and have really inspired me to continue with this story. I'm doing some individual reviewer comments again this time around, so if you reviewed please look for those at the bottom of the fic.  
I would also like to say thank you to everyone who has read this far: in writing this fic I've realized that my writing style tends to be wordy and slow moving, so I thank you for sticking with it despite the snail-like plot progression. I really am trying to get things moving, so please bear with me!  
I also apologize for the slow update this time around, but I really do have a reason for it this time. I managed to break the "y" key on my keyboard, and it's a fairly critical key for this fic since the two main characters both have y's in their names. Hopefully I'll be getting that fixed as soon as I find a place that fixes computer keys. Also, this installment is pretty angst-ridden, and I find angst very difficult to write, so that slowed me down a bit. It's so much simpler when everyone is tripping merrily along, but I couldn't bring myself to write a Weiss fic without including some good old fashioned angst. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

…

As soon as the bedroom door slammed shut behind him Aya pulled the black shirt over his head and, with a growl of frustration, threw it as hard as he could at the wall. The wad of fabric made a satisfying "thud" as it hit, and then fell to lie in a dejected heap on the otherwise immaculate floor. Next, Aya tackled his pants. He had his hand lifted to deal with the bundle of leather the same way he'd dealt with his now-hated shirt, when practicality reasserted itself. The shirt was just a shirt, but the pants were part of his mission gear and therefore should not be thrown around. It was bad enough that he'd worn them to a club, he wasn't going to compound his irresponsibility by leaving them in a heap on the floor. As he hung the pants back up on their hanger and made a mental note to have them cleaned, he remembered that the pants weren't the only piece of his mission gear he'd worn out last night. He'd worn his mission boots to the club, but he'd only been wearing socks when he'd climbed out of Yohji's bed that morning. He was certain of that – the small blades imbedded in the soles of the boots would have come in very handy when he'd been ripping Yohji's sheets. Yohji must have taken off the boots the night before; Aya certainly hadn't been in any condition to do it himself. Well, that made sense. The blonde probably hadn't wanted muddy boots in his precious bed.

Unfortunately, the present absence of the boots meant they were probably still in Yohji's room and, at the moment, Yohji's room was a place Aya most definitely did not want to go. As he turned away from the closet the small pile of black fabric huddled on the floor caught his eye, and a thought floated, unbidden, through his mind.

_They saw you. They all saw you. Wearing that._

It was bad enough that Yohji had seen him, but now so had his two younger teammates and Manx. His stomach lurched at the thought, and for a moment Aya thought he was going to be sick again. As the nausea faded, Aya's mouth curled in a bitter smile. He'd seen the shock on his teammates faces when he'd accepted the mission. They shouldn't have been so surprised, the way he'd been dressed he'd already looked the part. He closed his eyes, but he still saw blue and brown eyes wide with astonishment and, eclipsing them both, a pair of vibrant green eyes in which the astonishment was all but smothered by a stronger, hotter, emotion. _Anger_. Aya took a ragged breath and shoved those accusing green eyes from his mind. He doesn't understand. None of them do.

Abruptly unable to stand being clad in nothing more than a pair of underwear, even in his own room, Aya pulled on a pair of his oldest, baggiest, pants, and his bulkiest sweater, and then collapsed onto his bed with none of his usual grace. His head still hurt, his stomach was still roiling uneasily, and recent events had him feeling more off-balance and unsure than he liked to admit, even to himself. He didn't want to get his boots; in fact, he didn't want to leave his room ever again. Aya recognized the desire to hide as yet another manifestation of the weakness within himself that he so despised; but for the moment he was feeling too sick and exhausted to fight against it. Halfheartedly, he tried to convince himself to move, telling himself that he needed to take a shower, and that he needed to review the mission file and begin planning the mission. Despite his mental urgings, his eyes slid shut.

Aya's respite was short-lived: he'd only been lying down for a moment when a deafening clatter sent him leaping off of the bed and halfway across the room, sleep fogged eyes rapidly scanning the room for signs of attack. A quick look around assured him that nothing in the room seemed to be out of the ordinary aside from the horrendous noise. As he listened more carefully, Aya determined that the sound was actually coming from underneath his room. A rattle in the water pipes that ran between the walls gave him the other clue he needed, and he realized the noise that he had taken for an attack was actually the sound of the washing machine running with about ten pounds of change crashing around in the bowl. Rolling his eyes, Aya directed a silent but vicious curse at teammates who didn't check their pockets before putting their pants in the wash. He always checked his own pockets, even though he always put his change in his wallet where it belonged. As the metallic rattling continued, however, Aya realized that a few pieces of overlooked pocket-change could never make this much noise. Even if the coins had somehow managed to create the racket, a person who had left the coins in the machine by accident would have stopped the cycle when he realized how much noise the change was making. "Bastard," Aya muttered softly. He knew exactly which one of his teammates was responsible for these lovely musical stylings. He briefly considered the rather attractive notion of finding the blonde and hitting him until his head hurt as much as Aya's – then they'd see how _he_ enjoyed the noise – but was forced to abandon the idea. Hitting Yohji would involve being in the same room as Yohji which was something he was still very interested in avoiding, and, despite his anger, he was grudgingly aware that Yohji might have some slight cause for irritation himself. A bit guiltily, Aya recalled that he had ripped Yohji's sheets, cursed at him, thrown a glass at his head, and given him a bloody nose. Annoyed with the sympathetic direction in which his thoughts were tending, Aya reminded himself that Yohji had lied about the drinks. His temper obliged him by surging in a satisfying manner and, mouth curved in a silent snarl, Aya grabbed his towel from its hook on the back of his door. It seemed he would be taking that shower after all.

An hour later, feeling slightly more human thanks to a shower, several cups of hot tea, and the cessation the laundry machine's wash cycle, Aya was a bit more willing to face the world without hitting something. He was also feeling increasingly guilty about the fact that he, the team leader, had yet to even look at the mission file. So, even though he was still feeling far from enthusiastic about encountering his teammates, he made his way down to the mission room. He felt another twinge of guilt when he came down the stairs and found Omi sitting on the floor, pages of print and photographs surrounding him in a wide arc. Omi was so engrossed in his study of one of the papers that he jerked in surprise when Aya dropped to the floor next to him. Recovering himself, Omi gave a tentative smile of greeting. For a moment he seemed about to speak, but Aya's silence appeared to change his mind and the boy returned to his work.

Aya frowned slightly, concerned that Omi hadn't seen or heard him come down the stairs or across the room. Being caught unawares, even in the relative safety of their home, was too dangerous in their line of work. He gave Omi a covert examination under the guise of picking up a photo, and his frown deepened when he noted the dark circles under the boy's eyes. Omi had more responsibilities than the rest of them; not only did he participate in missions and work in the flower shop, he also went to school. Aya knew how difficult it was for the boy to juggle his many obligations, so he had discreetly re-worked the flower shop schedule to give himself more shifts and Omi less in an attempt to alleviate some of the boy's burden. Despite his efforts, it looked like the boy was still not getting enough rest. He made a mental note to check the work schedule when he went upstairs, maybe he could switch another shift or two without anyone noticing. For now, though, he could at least make sure the kid got a bit of a break.  
"Omi," Aya snapped, worry making the name come out a bit more harshly than he'd intended.  
The kid looked up from the print-out he'd been examining, eyes wide and nervous. Aya realized he was still frowning and made an effort to smooth his face into a more neutral expression.

_He looks as though he thinks I'm going to eat him or something. __  
_

"Omi," Aya said again, careful to keep his tone even. "I can do this. You can go."  
"But I can help, I've already started going through Tanaka's schedule and –"  
"No," Aya interrupted, making his voice chilly. "I don't need your help. I can do it faster on my own."  
That was a blatant lie of course. There was a lot of material to go through, and Omi's help would have made the task go much faster, but the words had the desired effect. Omi's mouth tightened, and Aya deliberately ignored the boy, turning back to the pictures. He could feel Omi's gaze on him, but he refused to look up. After a moment of silence Omi deliberately placed the paper he'd been reading on the floor, stood, and left the basement without another word. As the sound of his footsteps receded, Aya permitted himself a small, bitter, smile. He'd hurt Omi's feelings by dismissing him, he knew, but at least now the kid would get some rest. If he'd told Omi the truth, Omi would have claimed that he was perfectly fine and would have insisted on helping, even though he clearly needed to sleep. Having Omi think he was being an asshole was a small price to pay if it kept the boy healthy. With a sigh, Aya surveyed the thick ring of papers spread around him and resigned himself to a long day.

Yohji leaned his broom against the wall and then, unable to resist, gave it a spiteful kick. The broom retaliated by falling over and taking with it the nearby mop, duster, dustpan, and one very ugly, very expensive, ceramic vase. Yohji stared numbly at the heap of slanting handles and broken pottery for a few moments before muttering a curse. Still muttering expletives to himself, he extracted the broom from the mess and began to sweep the jagged remnants of the shattered vase into a pile. He'd been working for a few minutes when Ken came through the door that led to the front of the shop, his green apron slung over his arm.  
"I heard the crash, but we had one last customer. Everything alright?"  
Then Ken noticed what Yohji was sweeping up and he stopped walking. "Yohji…is that what I think it is?"  
Yohji nodded curtly.  
"Man, Aya's going to kill you. You had to go and break the most expensive vase in the store?"  
"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly do it on purpose" Yohji replied irritably.  
Ken resumed his progress across the storeroom, oblivious to Yohji's mood. "Well, hurry up. The meeting is in ten minutes, and I don't think you want to make Aya any angrier by being late." With that, he disappeared into the house and Yohji scowled.  
"Thank you so much for offering to help, Ken, but I've really got it all under control," Yohji said to himself as he dumped another pile of shards into the garbage can. Finally finished with the clean-up, Yohji replaced the broom against the wall. He didn't kick it this time, but he did give it a look that by rights should have reduced the thing to a pile of smoking kindling. There were very few things in his life that Yohji hated more than he hated that broom. He didn't much care for working in the flower shop in the first place, but sweeping up the flower cuttings was by far his least favorite task. Yohji untied his apron, threw it onto its hook, and stomped into the house. It was bad enough that he'd been stuck in the flower shop all afternoon listening to Ken talk about some soccer game that had happened over the weekend, had had to sweep the floor, and had broken a vase in a ridiculous fit of pique, but now he couldn't even go out and have a drink and a smoke. Oh no, their redheaded leader had stalked into the shop an hour or so ago to inform them that they were having a mission meeting that evening, right after the shop closed.  
_Damn him._  
As much as he wished it were otherwise, Yohji knew that his mood was not entirely, or even mostly, a result of his afternoon in the flower shop. No, his mood had taken a definite down-turn when Aya had come into the shop and reminded him of the upcoming mission. As he walked down the stairs to the mission room, he gave the support-pillar a kick. At least that couldn't fall over on him.

The rest of his teammates were waiting for him in the mission room, and when he appeared Aya gave him a cold glance and looked pointedly at the clock on the wall. Yohji ignored Aya just as pointedly and made a show of stretching leisurely as he settled into his chair. He forced himself to bare his teeth in something that he hoped was at least an approximation of his usual lazy grin, but a glance around the table revealed that he needn't have bothered. No one seemed terribly interested in what he was doing. Omi and Ken were both determinedly staring at the floor, Ken with his brow knotted in confusion, and Omi with an unusual, sulky, set to his mouth. Aya seemed to be examining a set of papers he was holding, although Yohji thought he saw those long violet eyes flicker, almost to quickly to catch, towards Omi. Something seemed to be going on there, but Aya started talking before Yohji had a chance to try to ferret it out.  
"The information Kritiker has provided included a number of clubs that Tanaka generally frequents, as well as a breakdown of which nights he generally goes to which clubs. Tomorrow night, if he sticks to his general habits, he should be at Night Dreams. Apparently it's one of the bigger clubs in the city. Do you know it?" The last was directed at Yohji, and Yohji gave a short bark of a laugh that earned him startled glances from his younger teammates. "Yeah. I know it." He didn't add that he also knew the kind of clientele that the club catered to, but he tightened his grip on the chair's armrests until his knuckles shone whitely through his skin.  
Aya continued, either ignoring or not noticing Yohji's reaction. "Good. You'll be the first one in. Wait, watch for Tanaka, call me when he arrives. Ken, you'll be outside with your bike. You'll watch Tanaka as he enters and exits the club, and be on general standby in case anything goes wrong. Omi, you'll be back here running communications. Questions?"  
"Yeah, I've got a question," Yohji drawled. "We know what we're doing, but what exactly are YOU going to be doing?"  
Aya gave him an impenetrable look and replied quietly, "you know what I'll be doing Yohji. Manx made that perfectly clear."  
That cold detachment snapped the last threads holding Yohji's temper in check.  
"No, I don't know," Yohji practically spat. "Were you planning on getting him off in the bathroom? I hear that's pretty popular. Or are you planning to go back to his place? Or, what the hell, why not just bring him here! We could have a fucking party!" The rational corner of Yohji's mind was a silent, aghast, observer as the words spilled out of his mouth. He was dimly aware of his two younger teammates staring at him, their jaws hanging down so far they were practically touching the floor, but a vision of Aya and Tanaka locked in an embrace loomed before him and everything else seemed dull and distant. Throughout his tirade, cool violet eyes remained locked on his own. When he had finished his outburst, Aya stood and looked down at Yohji, his face still impassive.  
"I'll do what I need to do to accomplish the mission, Yohji. Be ready to go by ten tomorrow," Aya said, his voice expressionless. "Does anyone whose name is _not_ Yohji have any questions?"  
Omi and Ken shook their heads, jaws still hanging in the vicinity of their knees.  
"Good. Be ready to go tomorrow." For the second time that day, Aya left his teammates sitting in the mission room in stunned silence.

"Shit!" Yohji slammed his fist down on the coffee table, and Ken and Omi jumped. This time, Yohji knew, there was no way he could convince either Ken or Omi that his reaction to this mission was nothing out of the ordinary, and at the moment he didn't much care.

Aya was never going to speak to him again. This time he had not only crossed the line, he'd gone so far past it he couldn't even see the line anymore.

His younger teammates were still staring at him, with wide, frightened, eyes and Yohji knew he had to say something. He couldn't think of an excuse, so he resigned himself to telling the truth. Well, some of it, anyway.  
"I don't want him doing this mission." No need to say who "he" was. Neither Ken nor Omi made a sound, so Yohji continued. "He accepted the mission and he won't ever admit it, but I know, _I know_, that he doesn't want to do this. And he shouldn't have to! Kritiker – we hunt for them, we kill for them. We shouldn't have to do _that_ for them." _Especially not him_. He didn't voice that thought, and he didn't mention the pictures that were burning like bright after-images in his mind, images of Aya and a tall, handsome man in each other's arms. He also didn't mention how those images were making him burn with a white hot fury. He hadn't thought he was capable of such fury anymore; he'd thought that most of his stronger emotions had died with Asuka. Apparently, some of them weren't quite as dead as he'd thought.  
_Shit, Aya, what are you doing to me? __  
_

…

In his room, Aya allowed his cool mask of indifference to fall away and leaned against the door, trying without success to still the tremors that racked his body.  
_Damn you Yohji! _  
God, he couldn't handle this. He couldn't handle Yohji and the mission. One alone was almost more than he could deal with, but together – it was hopeless. He could feel his walls cracking, crumbling as he stood there, and he struggled desperately to shore them back up. He needed those walls, needed them to do what he had to do. With a sudden movement, he lunged across his room and grabbed for the drawer of his bedside table. When the drawer didn't open immediately, he gave it a pull that jerked it off its tracks and sent it crashing to the floor, its contents scattering. The bottom of the drawer split on the impact, and Aya cursed softly as he examined the long crack that now ran the length of the drawer. Using a great deal more care than he'd used in removing the drawer, he pried up the now-cracked piece of wood that rested over actual bottom of the drawer. A single photograph lay between the false and real bottom of the drawer, and Aya lifted it carefully.

The picture was of a rose garden in the early spring. The bright buds of the flowers were just beginning to unfurl, showing glimmers of the brilliant colors that would soon paint the garden in swathes of vibrant reds, yellows, and pinks. Two children sat on the garden wall, their faces open and laughing. A red-haired boy had his arm around a girl with a rosebud caught in her dark hair, and the girl was smiling up at him. Aya had long since memorized every line of the photograph, but actually looking at it always made him feel as though someone had just punched him in the chest.

_Aya. I need to be strong for Aya. For her I can do this. For her, I can do anything_.

Aya suddenly had a hysterical urge to laugh. Yes, for his sister he could even be a whore. What did it matter anyway? He'd already given Kritiker his soul, they might as well take his body too. None of that mattered; all that mattered was that Aya was taken care of, and that he avenged her. What happened to him along the way was completely inconsequential. His teammates didn't understand that, or they wouldn't have been so surprised when he'd accepted the mission. And Yohji – Yohji understood least of all. Ken and Omi were surprised, but Yohji was angry. Aya couldn't imagine why the blonde cared, but Yohji's outburst left little doubt about his feelings on the matter, and the expression in his green eyes had left even less. Yohji seemed to think that Aya was somehow demeaning himself by accepting this mission. Aya had to fight off another surge of hysterical laughter at the suggestion. Aya knew that he'd already sunk as low as he could possibly go, what he did on this mission wouldn't make the slightest difference. To get his revenge he'd become a remorseless murderer, his blade stained crimson with the blood of innumerable victims. He'd destroyed his heart and damned his soul, but Yohji was worried that whoring was beneath him. Aya finally did laugh at that, but it was a harsh laugh with no humor in it.

Yohji and his other teammates also didn't understand that Aya would never turn down a mission even if he did think it was beneath him. Turning down any mission meant risking Kritiker's displeasure, and turning down this one would have guaranteed it. Manx had made it very clear that Weiss in general and Aya in particular were the last chance to destroy Ekstase. If he hadn't accepted the mission, Kritiker would have been very, very displeased. The Magic Bus Hospital was run by Kritiker, and Aya knew only too well how far Kritiker would go to see their aims accomplished. No, he had no illusions about his employers. They would have no qualms about threatening a helpless, comatose, girl it that's what it took ensure his cooperation in destroying this corporation, and he would die before he allowed that to happen.

Aya knelt on his cold bedroom floor for several more minutes, clutching the photograph and trying to rebuild his failing walls of ice and indifference. After a time, he stood and gathered the items that had scattered across the floor when he'd pulled the drawer off its track. The drawer was cracked beyond his ability to repair, and he placed it by his garbage can. That taken care of, he stood with the picture still in his hand, momentarily unsure what to do with it now that he had destroyed its hiding place. There was a book lying on his bedside table, and, with some misgivings, he slipped the picture between the leaves. He'd find a better hiding place later; it was getting late and he needed to buy some clothes for tomorrow before the stores closed. He couldn't go shopping tomorrow; thanks to one of the schedule switches he'd made to spare Omi, he was working all day. According to the mission file, the club catered to some very specific tastes, and he didn't have any clothes that would be even remotely appropriate. Yohji might have something he could borrow, but he had absolutely no intention of asking the blonde for help. He shuddered a little at the thought of what he was going to have to wear, but reminded himself firmly that it didn't matter. The mission was what mattered.  
-

Aya stalked back into his room a few hours later and dropped the black bag he was carrying as soon as he was through the door. He didn't want to touch the thing for a moment longer than he absolutely had to. His relief at having that appalling shopping experience behind him was so great that he failed to notice that one of the shadows by the door was darker than it should have been. He did notice when the door clicked softly shut behind him, and he whirled to face the intruder.  
Yohji stood there, _sans_ his ever-present sunglasses, and looking wearier than Aya had ever seen him. Aya was too startled to speak, but Yohji wasn't. When he spoke, his voice sounded weary as well, with none of its usual carefree flare.  
"Aya, we need to talk."

…

AN: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. PLEASE review! I really, really, love to hear what you think! My first-time author angst is still very much in effect, and now I also worry about disappointing my reviewers.

And now for my reviewers:

**Comtess**: As always, thank you for you wonderful, consistent rewiews! They really mean a lot to me and I'm so glad to hear that you are enjoying the story. I'm really glad to hear that you like my Aya – in your review you touched on a pet peeve of mine regarding Yohji/Aya fics. In a lot of fics Aya does seem to go from icicle to passionate lover without much of an explanation, and that always seemed a bit unrealistic to me. I've always thought that getting Aya into a relationship would be a pretty long, painful process. I'm also glad that you like the detail – I often worry that I'm being too detailed since the story is advancing so slowly, but I'm glad someone is appreciating it!

And I don't think your pen-name is silly at all. It's certainly much less silly than mine (also an animal's name, but a fictional dog rather than an actual bird), and I think it's really sweet that you used your bird's name. Thanks again for the sweet review!

**Poe-Chan**: Thank you so much for your wonderful review. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story – your review really helped me keep on plugging when I was stuck in an angst-mire and having trouble getting out. Angst-writing, I've decided, is very hard! I think I like writing humorous scenes better, and hopefully Aya's seduction sequences will give me a chance to do some more of that. So, thank you again for the wonderful review, and I am so sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up.

**MangaMamma**: Thank you so much for your review! I believe I already responded to it a bit in my review of that wonderful fic you are writing (more chapters please!), but I did want to thank you again. And I'm glad you think the characters are "careening" – I worry about the slow pace of the fic. So thank you again, and I really hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.

**Neuroticsquirrel**: Haha, great minds think alike I guess ;-). I love that movie so… I'm glad you are enjoying the fic, and I apologize the slow pace since it means you have to wait until the next chapter to see Aya's hooker-gear.

**Bewsbud**: Thank you for your review! I'm very glad you are enjoying, and I promise to get Tanaka in there soon…

**Ptath**: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked chapter five. I did think it was really interesting that you said the chapter was a bit short. When I read through it I had exactly the same reaction, but actually, according to Word Count that chapter was longer than all the previous chapters. Strange, huh? I think it might have been all the dialogue – somehow dialogue goes faster. Thank you again for your reviews, and I hope you're still enjoying the story.

**Animegoil**: Thank you for reviewing again! I'm glad you liked the humor, and I hope you weren't too put off by the dearth of humor in this latest chapter (I promise to try and get some more back in there in chapters to come). I'll work on the Omi as all-knowing-spectator idea – I've always thought he was a pretty perceptive kid.

**MikaSamu**: I'm sorry you've been having trouble with the review button, but I'm so glad you did eventually get it to work because I really appreciated your review. I'm glad you like the introspection, I always worry about those chunks because they slow the story down, but I think they are so important for Aya because without them it's hard to understand why he does the things he does. Thank you again for the review, and I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter!

**Barbara cheah**: Thank you for reviewing again! I really enjoy hearing what you have to say. Aya's my favorite assassin too, so I don't think you have to worry about him too much. I'm glad you like my writing and I do hope to continue with the fanfics, although nekojita's arc is a pretty big act to follow…

**Mayfaire**: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like the atypical romance. While I love many, many Yohji/Aya fics my chief complaint is sometimes that the boys have too easy a time of it when they are getting together, and I'm trying to make sure that they have far from an easy time of it in this fic. Thanks again for the encouragement, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

**Liz**: Thank you so much for your two lovely reviews! I'm glad you don't mind the pace (hopefully this latest chapter didn't change that – it's a little slow, I know), and I'm also really glad you like the details. Sometimes the details take a little while to think up, and it's nice to know that they are appreciated. I'm also glad you like Yohji and Aya's misunderstandings. I've been trying to convey throughout the fic the way that, in some respects, the guys know each other very well, but in other respects don't understand each other at all. Thanks again for the review, and I hope you're still enjoying the fic!

**Duos-deathscythe**: Thanks for the encouragement! Your review came when I was having a bit of writers block, and it really got me going again. I hope you are still enjoying, and thank you again!

**Angel**: Thanks for the encouragement! I really appreciate it, and I hope you are still liking the fic.

Thank you all again!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's note: I'm so sorry for the slow update! My laptop had to go and get its keyboard fixed (thanks for the tip Redqueen, but since it's a laptop the whole keyboard needed fixing), so I wasn't able to write for a few days. I also plead that this segment was hard to write. I find emotions challenging to write about. Also, you may notice that this chapter is very short. Have no fear, I've added two short-ish new chapters. The time jump between them made them awkward as a continuous segment, so I thought it best to split them up.

I also apologize for the cliffhanger ending on the last chapter, since it seems to have upset a lot of people. I'm sorry – I don't usually like cliffhangers myself, but I wanted to change the POV mid-scene there so it was kind of necessary for continuity purposes. Sorry again!

On a happier note – thank you so much to all of my reviewers! I love hearing what you guys think, and it totally makes my day to see a new review. The individual comments are going to be brief this time around given the lateness of the hour and the fact that I really want to get this out tonight, but they are located at the bottom of the NEXT CHAPTER of the fic. Thank you again everyone and I hope you enjoy.

…

"We need to talk."  
As he said the words, Yohji winced inwardly. He wished he'd thought of something to say that wasn't the precursor to every bad teen-movie break-up scene, but when Aya had whirled towards him, violet eyes wide with shock at seeing his sanctuary invaded, his thoughts had scattered like wisps of vapor.  
But, judging from the way Aya's eyes had narrowed when he saw who had committed the unprecedented sin of entering his bedroom, his poor choice of phrasing was going to be the least of his worries. Yohji had done quite a few stupid things in his life, many of them in past few days, but what he was doing now made all those other acts look like pure genius.  
"What are you doing in my room?" Aya's voice was dangerously quiet, and Yohji resisted his urge to run. This was too important for that.  
"Like I said, I need to talk to you. Since you run and hide in your room every time I try to talk to you, I thought I'd save you the trip."  
Aya's violet eyes widened again, and for the moment he seemed too shocked by Yohji's effrontery to muster a response of either the verbal or physical variety. Yohji had been counting on that moment of stunned inaction, and he pressed his brief advantage.  
"I – we- don't think you should do this mission." Aya's eyes were rapidly losing their startled blankness and were sharpening into points of jagged amethyst ice, so Yohji hurried to deliver the explanation he'd been rehearsing in his room since dinner.  
"Weiss has never worked a case like this before, we'll be flying blind. What if something goes wrong when you're with Tanaka?" Yohji fought to keep his voice even and controlled, to give the impression that his objections were entirely logical in nature. Even so, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, his fingernails digging into his palms so deeply that they broke the skin in several places. He didn't notice.  
"What if something goes wrong and we can't get you out? You could get hurt." _Or killed_. He didn't say the last, but he didn't have to. Aya knew the risks of this profession as well as he did.  
It was a legitimate concern, even if it was not his only one, and Yohji's chest tightened at the thought of Aya trapped and at the mercy of a man who had no compunctions about using human beings as lab rats and who enjoyed the kind of games that were the stock and trade of places like Nightt Pleasures. Aya, on the other hand, didn't react to the notion with so much as a flicker of an eyelid.  
_He doesn't care if he gets hurt or killed. He doesn't care at all_, Yohji thought with distant wonder. A career in Weiss required a certain willingness to gamble with one's life, but even so Yohji had a very high regard for his own skin and he tried very hard to ensure that it didn't get sliced up by knives or riddled with bullet holes. He'd always assumed that the rest of the team felt the same way. Self preservation was a natural human instinct after all. True, Aya had demonstrated a certain tendency to place himself in harm's way during missions, but Yohji had always just attributed that to his desire to play the fearless leader. It had never occurred to him that Aya might not care whether he lived or died. The realization shook him, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from crossing the room and trying to beat some sense into the stubborn redhead's skull. Pummeling Aya, satisfying as it might be, would almost certainly result in his expulsion from the room, and he couldn't allow that to happen until he had convinced Aya not to take the mission. The man was infuriating, though.  
With a supreme effort of will, Yohji forced himself to continue his recitation.  
"What if he figures out that you're a Kritiker agent? It could compromise the mission."  
Aya reacted to that, it wasn't much, but Yohji was watching closely so he saw the convulsive jerk of a muscle in the redhead's jaw.  
_Damn him. He cares more about the damn mission than he does about his life._  
Yohji felt the anger rising in him like a red tide and he fought to keep it in check. If he shouted at Aya now he'd lose his chance to convince the redhead.  
As Yohji struggled to get his wayward emotions under control, Aya finally found his voice.  
"He won't figure it out, Yohji. I always complete the mission. You should know that. Now get the hell out of my room." Aya spoke with his usual icy dispassion, but Yohji detected a hint of something else in the redhead's final command. It was in the way Aya said the words just a touch too quickly, a touch too forcefully. Yohji had never seen Aya afraid. In fact, the thought of Aya being afraid was an almost inconceivable one, but Yohji was certain that Aya was afraid now. Of what exactly, he wasn't sure, but his glimpse of that improbable emotion abruptly derailed his plans to continue offering logical, intellectual, reasons why Aya should recant his acceptance of the mission.  
The words felt as though they were being torn out of him as he spoke. "God, Aya, I know you can do it. Even if it killed you, you'd make sure you got it done, wouldn't you? But you shouldn't have to take this one. We can turn down missions, just turn this one down. It's not too late. Please." The last word was little more than a whisper. Yohji reached out towards Aya in a hesitant gesture of entreaty, but he let his hand fall as Aya stepped backwards until he came up against the wall behind him. Now the fear that had been merely hinted at in the redhead's voice was shining starkly in his eyes.  
"Shut up Yohji!" Aya's voice came out harsh and ragged and the fingers of his right hand splayed out across the wall behind him, as if only its support was keeping him upright. "It's none of your business what missions I take. Why do you care, anyway? It's not like you're the one who has to do it. So just leave it alone and get out of my room!"  
"Why do I care?" Yohji sighed and raked his right hand through his dark-blonde hair. "That's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately. I guess it's because, for reason's I can't even begin to fathom, I care about _you_." Aya started visibly, and Yohji's mouth curved into a tiny, self mocking smile. "Yeah. I know. It's strange isn't it? I mean, you certainly haven't gone out of your way to make it easy or anything, and it's caused me nothing but grief so far. But, I guess I must have some masochistic tendencies, because I do care about you. I care about what happens to you. I don't know how, or why, but I do. And I know that you don't really want to do this, so I don't want you to do it either." _And I can't stand the thought of you with him. I can't stand the thought of you with anyone but me. God, how did this happen? _

Yohji's gaze had dropped to the floor during his admission, and he raised his head slowly, half expecting to find himself facing several feet of pointed steel. Aya hadn't moved from his position against the far wall and his head was bowed, his crimson hair falling in a fiery curtain to shield his eyes. His shoulders were shaking and, for one appalling moment, Yohji thought he was crying. Then Aya looked up, and Yohji realized that Aya wasn't crying, but was doing something nearly as unbelievable. Aya was laughing. Quietly, yes, but definitely laughing. Yohji had often daydreamed about seeing Aya laugh, but he quickly decided that if this was the way the redhead's laughter always looked he could do without ever seeing it again. Two bright spots of color had appeared on high Aya's cheekbones, his eyes were feverishly bright, and as his laughter grew louder Yohji heard a note of hysteria striking discordantly within the harsh amusement.  
"God Yohji! You really are an idiot. I've always said so, but I never really believed it until now. I'm the last person in the world that you should care about, and if you had any sense at all, you'd know that too. And the mission – God, you keep going on about the damn mission. Don't you see that it doesn't matter? It doesn't matter what I do, and it matters even less what I want. And even if it did, you think I can just turn down the mission, just like that? Well, it doesn't work that way, not for me. So stop interfering and let me do my job!"  
"I may be an idiot," Yohji said slowly when Aya felt silent, "but I do listen occasionally. And listening to you just now I noticed that you didn't once say that you want to do this mission. You said it doesn't matter, sure, and maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it does matter to me. And why can't you turn down the mission? Is it because of her?" Yohji raised the picture he'd been concealing in the palm of his left hand so that Aya could it. He didn't need to look at it himself, he'd spent well over an hour staring at it as he'd waited for Aya to return. The boy in the picture had Aya's brilliant hair and startling eyes, but it had taken Yohji almost an hour to convince himself that he was actually looking at a picture of a younger Aya. It hadn't been the boy's youth that had made him almost unrecognizable, it had been the expression on his face. The boy's open, smiling, visage bore almost no resemblance to the cold mask that was the habitual expression of the Aya he knew. The girl he didn't recognize, but after a hot flash of jealously at the way Aya's arm was draped around her, he'd looked more closely and had noted a similarity in the set of the jaw and in the angle of the nose. Relatives, perhaps.  
"Where did you get that?" Aya's voice was little more than a whisper, and he had gone so pale that he nearly matched the color of the whitewashed wall behind him.  
"I was waiting for you, I picked up your book and this fell out. Who is she?" Yohji kept his voice low as well, speaking as he would to a frightened animal. He knew he'd taken an enormous risk by revealing that he'd seen the picture, and now it was time to be conciliatory.  
"That's not your concern. Give it back." Aya's hand clutched at the wall, and Yohji realized with some astonishment that he was trembling.  
Yohji had considered using the picture as leverage to make Aya talk to him, but seeing Aya's obvious distress he found himself unable to do it.  
"Alright." Yohji didn't think approaching Aya at the moment was a good idea, so he went to the bed, placed the picture carefully on the coverlet, and moved away. Looking at Aya's still ashen complexion, Yohji realized that he had miscalculated. He'd known the picture had to be important; Aya's bedroom was as impersonal as a hotel room, any sign that someone actually lived there was of note. He'd expected a reaction from the redhead, but he hadn't expected the notoriously unflappable Aya to be this visibly shaken. Looking at Aya, Yohji began to realize that he had intruded on something intensely personal and private. Belatedly, he tried to make amends.  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched it. I won't ask you about her again. I hope you'll decide to tell me though."  
Aya took a deep breath and with visible effort lifted his gaze to meet Yohji's.  
"No. Just get out."  
Yohji hesitated. Shock had temporarily stripped away Aya's habitual masks, and Yohji found himself wanting to do something, anything, to ease the pain and desperation he saw glimmering in those violet eyes. He took one step forward.  
"Aya –"  
"Please." Yohji didn't think he'd ever heard Aya say please before, and the whispered entreaty stopped him.  
"Please, just go." Aya sounded drained, as though those few words had taken the last of his remaining strength. Yohji stood undecided a moment longer, and then dropped his head in defeat.  
"Alright. I'm here though, you know, if you need anything." Even as he spoke, Yohji knew that offering help had been a mistake. He could almost see Aya's walls of chilly indifference snap back into place. Aya met his eyes again, and this time there was no trace of emotion in his cool purple stare.  
"That won't be necessary. Goodbye." Aya glanced pointedly at the door and, knowing that he had just lost this argument, Yohji bowed to Aya's wishes and the redhead alone in his room.

Back in his own room, he went straight to his closet and rummaged for the bottle he knew he'd left behind a pile of old art supplies. The bottle of run was only slightly dusty and was about three quarters of the way full. Yohji smiled grimly. It would be a good deal less full by the time this night was over.

AN: I hope you enjoyed, please see the end of the next chapter for reviewer comments.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

…

Leaning against one of Night Pleasures three bars, Aya took a sip of his drink and fought his urge to grimace in distaste. He didn't know what it was; he'd needed to order something and the only drink he'd been able to think of was a Long Island Iced Tea. Hell would freeze over before he'd another one of those, so when the leather-clad bartender had asked him what he wanted, he'd randomly selected a man sitting a little ways down that bar and had indicated that he'd have what he was drinking. This exchange left him in possession of an electric blue concoction, one taste of which had him thinking that he might have been better off with a Long Island after all.

Resolutely, he steeled himself for another sip and winced as the liquid sent a shudder down his body. He would have abandoned the drink, or better yet wouldn't have ordered one in the first place but, although he was far from an expert on common clubbing behavior, he had picked up enough to know that standing around alone, not dancing, and not drinking, would occasion comment. One of the most fundamental rules Weiss operated by while on missions was to draw no unnecessary attention, and since dancing was out of the question he'd had little choice but to have a drink. He would have ordered cola, but a few moments of covert observation of the bar area had revealed that an order of the non-alcoholic variety would also have drawn some unwanted attention.  
_And I've already got plenty of that_, Aya reflected sourly. The scan he'd made of the dim club a few minutes ago had revealed that he was attracting quite a bit of attention, and he silently cursed his bright hair.

In any other situation he would have assumed that it was the outfit that he was presently wearing that was drawing all the stares. He winced as he recalled the poleaxed expressions he'd seen on his teammates faces when he'd come downstairs to leave for the mission. Poor Omi, he'd looked like his eyes were about to fall out of his head. Not that he could blame him, Aya reflected ruefully as he looked down at the outfit he'd purchased the night before. He was wearing tight leather pants, encircled at the waist by a several heavy, metal-studded, belts, a top of transparent black material that showed rather more than it revealed, and to top it all off a black leather collar with an oversized silver buckle around his neck. When he'd looked at himself in the mirror after getting ready he'd barely been able to force himself to leave the room. He'd just been glad that Yohji had already left for Night Pleasures to begin his own surveillance when he'd come down; dealing with Ken and Omi's reactions had been bad enough, he wasn't sure if he could have handled Yohji's as well. However, compared with some of the outfits in evidence tonight his attire was very nearly monastic, so he was fairly certain that it wasn't his outfit that was drawing all the stares he was receiving.

It was probably his hair. Its bright red color was rare anywhere and was even rarer in Japan. He received a fair number of stares on a daily basis from people he was certain were wondering why anyone would voluntarily walk around with such a garish head of hair, but tonight he was getting even more looks than usual. He felt his cheeks begin to burn and ducked his head to take another vile sip of his drink. He'd considered dying the flaming locks to a more unremarkable brown on any number of occasions, but he'd never gone through with it. He'd made a promise years ago and he intended to honor it, no matter how many incredulous stares he had to endure. That afternoon was still as bright as a point of flame in his memory, as though it had happened moments rather than years ago.

He'd been eleven years old, and he'd come home from school one afternoon, near tears because of some of his classmates taunts at his unusual coloring. Aya had found him in his room with a pair of their mother's scissors in his hand, determinedly hacking off his shoulder-length red mane. Aya had grabbed the scissors away and had begged him to stop, saying that she loved the color of his hair since it was the color of red roses. It had been too late to save most of the hair but, since he'd begun his home barber-job by cutting across his ponytail at the nape of his neck, several pieces of hair that had fallen out of the ponytail to frame his face had been spared his assault. Aya had asked him to leave those pieces long, for her, and, unable to tell her "no", he'd agreed. She'd been a perceptive child, and as if anticipating his next innovation, she'd also asked him to promise her that he wouldn't dye it. Of course, he'd promised, and now, years later he was still saddled with an unconventional haircut and a hair color that was nearly as eye-catching as flashing emergency lights.

Aya took another gulp of his drink and was gratified to note that he had nearly finished the wretched thing. He swirled the drink slowly with the stirrer that had come with it, knowing full well that he was putting off doing another scan of the club, not wanting to face that sea of staring faces. But, he was here to do a job, and he couldn't do that while staring into his drink. Resolutely, he ignored the tiny, cowardly, voice in his mind that told him that he didn't really have to look around, that Omi would contact him as soon as Ken saw Tanaka enter the club, and set the drink on the bar and turned to face the dance floor. There was always the chance that Ken might miss Tanaka, and Aya always liked to have a backup plan in place. In this case, that backup plan was his own eyes.  
_Yohji's here too. He would see Tanaka, and Omi would tell you_, the cowardly voice whispered, but Aya brushed that thought aside. He most definitely did _not_ want to think about Yohji right now.

The scene on the floor hadn't changed much since the last time he'd looked, but the sight still made his cheeks flush in embarrassment as he regarded the writhing mass of black leather, skin and metal. The Kritiker information on Night Pleasures had given him some idea of what to expect from the club, but the descriptions hadn't done justice to the reality. As he watched, a woman dressed in a black leather cat suit lifted one long leg to a surprising height, placed her stiletto-clad boot against the chest of the young man standing in front of her, and with a sharp shove sent him stumbling a few steps backwards. The man seemed to be wearing little more than a pair of black leather shorts that left very little to the imagination, and his neck was encircled by a band of bright metal. The band was attached to a thin metal chain, and the woman held the end of this chain in her left fist. Aya looked away with a shudder, only to find himself regarding a two men swaying on the dance floor, both wearing outfits that seemed to be made up primarily of cris-crossing leather straps and matching pairs of bright red handcuffs. Aya wrenched his eyes away again, and found his eye drifting to the row of metal cages suspended above the dance floor. There were men and women in these cages who seemed to be wearing very little aside from bands of red ribbon, and they were swaying seductively to the music for the enjoyment of the crowd below. As his eyes flickered over the club he tried to avoid looking too closely at anything that was going on, and he assiduously avoided locking glances with the many pairs of eyes that sought to connect with his own. He even more assiduously avoided looking towards the cluster of red-draped chairs and couches where he'd caught a glimpse of honey blonde hair earlier. Despite his efforts, he caught a flash of dark gold out of the corner of his eye was he swept his gaze quickly past the chairs, and his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. He _really_ didn't want to think about Yohji right now.  
_He said he cared._ The thought whispered into his mind, and Aya shoved it savagely away. He didn't have time for this. As if to confirm his thought, Omi's voice crackled into his earpiece.  
"Aya, Ken says he's here. He should be walking in now."  
Aya shifted his glance as casually as he could towards the club's main entrance, trying to ignore the way his heart was suddenly beating like the wings of a trapped moth.

As he watched the closed double doors, the last strains of whatever migraine-inducing song had been playing faded away. There was a moment of silence before the next song began, and in that moment of stillness the double doors swung open. Tanaka stepped into the silence, acting as if the moment had been created solely to display him. And, Aya had to admit, looking at the man, the idea didn't seem terribly implausible. Tanaka was dressed in a impeccably cut white suit with a silvery grey shirt and tie that stood in sharp contrast to the black leather outfits of the majority of the other club-goers. The light color of the suit emphasized his bronzed skin and well-toned body, and he favored the room with an imperious gaze. As he moved into the body of the club, dancers who had been pressed so closely together that it would have been impossible to slide a piece of paper between them melted out of his path like butter sliding away before a hot knife.

Aya watched the man, barely able to conceal his dismay. Kritiker had clearly made some sort of mistake. There was no way he could seduce that man. Despite his confident words to Yohji, Aya had been more than a little doubtful about his ability to carry out this seduction since he'd seen Tanaka's picture. But, he was the leader, so he had kept his doubts to himself. Now that he was faced with the man himself he realized he hadn't been nearly doubtful enough. The picture had not been able to convey Tanaka's aura, the sheer power of his presence. Aya had no doubt that this man could have anyone in this club, in fact he could probably have anyone in the city. There was no way he was going to be interested in a young man with strangely colored hair and eyes. He was tempted to gather what tattered shreds of his dignity remained and leave the club right then and there, but of course he couldn't do that. He would have to stay for the whole, humiliating, night, or at least until it had been proven that Tanaka had no interest whatsoever.

He felt a cold tingle of fear along his spine at the thought of how Kritiker might respond to his failure. Hopefully, they would understand that they'd asked the impossible and wouldn't see it fit to – motivate – him further. But, despite his concern for his sister's continued care and safety, he found himself just a touch relieved that it didn't look as though he was going to be able to complete the mission. The feeling startled Aya. He shouldn't be feeling relief at his failure. Anger, fury, self-loathing, yes. But relief? No. This was Yohji's fault, Aya decided. If Yohji had just kept his mouth shut and minded his own business, and not brought up all this nonsense about wanting and not wanting and caring –  
Aya's train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt as a large, meaty, hand clamped his shoulder, gripping it with bruising force.  
Aya reacted without thinking, even as he cursed his carelessness. He'd been concerned yesterday when Omi hadn't heard him come down the stairs to the mission room, and here he was, so lost in his thoughts that he had completely neglected to pay attention to his surroundings, on a _mission_. He reached up and grabbed the hand that was clutching his shoulder, pivoted, and used the momentum of his spin and his grip on his assailant's hand to send the other person hurtling past him. His assailant turned out to be a rather large man in the sort of black suit, white shirt, black tie, combo popular with security guards, undercover agents, and unimaginative dressers everywhere, and his breath left him in a little "huff" of surprise as Aya's other fist connected with his stomach. He doubled over, clutching at his midsection, and Aya stepped back a few paces and waited for him to recover enough to speak.

"My employer," the man had to break off to cough before he could continue. "My employer requests the pleasure of your company."

"Well, your employer should have asked more nicely," Aya replied coldly. He turned to walk away and was suddenly face to face with a white-clad chest. For a moment, all he could think of was how _tall_ Tanaka was.

"I'm sorry." Tanaka's voice was deep and cultured, and contained just a hint of amusement. "Garth occasionally gets carried away in the execution of his duties. I do hope I can convince you to forgive me."

Aya was too startled to do much more than stammer some vague sort of assent, and then Tanaka was steering him towards a secluded alcove he hadn't noticed before. _Careless again, not noticing that._

The alcove's entrance was framed by two more black suited men, and inside were several red chairs draped in a similar manner as those outside, although Aya suspected that the coverings in here were real silk rather than imitation. Tanaka claimed a chair, somehow managing to make it look as though he was taking a throne, no small feat given the overblown style of the chairs. He gestured languidly towards one of the remaining chairs. "Please. Sit."

Not knowing what else to do, Aya sat.

"May I offer you a drink?" Tanaka arched one brow in elegant inquiry.

Aya shook his head in mute refusal, and Tanaka waved away the attendant who had been standing near his elbow.

"I don't believe I have seen you here before. I would surely remember hair such as that and eyes such as those." Tanaka's voice was as smooth as the silk he was seated upon. Something flared in the depths of his dark eyes, but it was veiled before Aya could identify it.

"I'm new to the area." Aya's voice was not so smooth, but he was grateful that he at least managed to sound relatively calm.

"Ah, I see. Perhaps you will allow me to show you some of the sites?"

"Perhaps. I might be more inclined to consider the offer if you gave me your name." Aya's voice was steadier this time. He still could hardly believe that Tanaka seemed interested in him, but he knew what he had to do.

"Ah, I fear I must apologize to you yet again. Please forgive my rudeness. My name is Seito Tanaka. And you are?"

"Ryo." Aya offered no last name. Kritiker's surveillance had demonstrated that Tanaka was a deeply suspicious man, and Aya had decided that Tanaka would be less suspicious of someone who did not seem overly eager to ingratiate himself. It seemed he'd been right, because Tanaka's teeth flashed whitely as his lips parted in a genuine smile.

"So then, "just Ryo," what brings –" Tanaka cut off abruptly, frowning, and reached into his jacket. Aya tensed slightly, but when Tanaka's hand came out of the jacket he wasn't holding a weapon, but rather a small silver cell phone which was buzzing like an angry hornet. Tanaka glanced down at the face, and looked up at Aya, his face a study of frustrated irritation.

"This is most inconvenient. It seems that I am needed at work. My deepest apologies once again, my dear Ryo, but as much as it pains me it seems I must leave you. I insist that you allow me to take you to dinner tomorrow night to make amends. 8:30 at the Flowering Vine. You know it?"

Of course Aya knew it, it was one of the most exclusive restaurants in Tokyo. He nodded.

"Good. I will send a car."

At Aya's firm shake of his head, Tanaka grinned again.

"Very well, I will meet you at the restaurant. 8:30. Until then." Suddenly Tanaka was over him, his hands braced on the chair back on either side of his head, and his lips were on Aya's. There was a moment of swift, dark, heat, and then Tanaka was gone, leaving a very startled redhead in his wake.

…

AN: I hoped you enjoyed the chapter, and please please please review! Thanks for reading!

And now to the individual comments:

Comtess: As always, I love you. Thank you for your lovely reviews, they mean the world to me. Love your story too, can't wait for an update!

Redqueen: thanks for the thoughtful review and the keyboard tip! I wasn't upset by your saying the story idea isn't original. I'm very aware of the fact, and as a medievalist myself I have great appreciation for the re-use of old material principle. Except they did it to impress everyone with how educated they were, and I do it because I'm not all that creative…

MikaSamu: Thanks for the sweet review, I'm glad you liked the Omi bit. I try to make Aya sympathetic since I think it's easy for him to come off as an ass.

Bladderwrack: thanks for the review – Love your name, by the way. It makes me smile every time. Glad you like the characterization, that always worries me.

Duos-deathscythe: thanks for the motivation!

Bewsbud: Thanks for the lovely review! I'm so glad you like the characterizations, they cause me a lot of writers angst, so it's nice to know they are appreciated.

NeuroticSquirrel: thanks for the wonderful, consistent reviews! I love them.

Animegoil: thanks for the consistent, thoughtful reviews. The rating is pretty much for the language and "mature subject matter" whatever that is. I was just being conservative, I don't think you really have anything to worry about in terms of content. I've never tried to write something really graphic, and while I don't mind reading the stuff I don't know that I'm really up to writing it myself. I'll let you know at the top of a chapter if something graphic is coming up, though.

Ptath: reading my mind there on the picture thing! Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate them.

Barbara: thanks for the consistent reviewing. Your reviews are always very thoughtful and I love reading them. Sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Midori Inoue: Glad to see you joined the world of account holders Liz! Thanks for the lovely review, it was nice to see that at least one person didn't hate my cliffhanger. Now that you have an account I'll be on the lookout for fics from you!

Angel and Dulcina-and-Fueisu – thanks for the reviews, sorry about the cliffhanger.

KuraRose: I'm so sorry my cliffhanger upset you so much! I hope you liked this latest chapter.

Silverium: thanks for reviewing!

Youyou: I'm working, I promise!

Sky Rat: Thank you so much for your multiple review. It was so kind of you to stop and review after several chapters, and I really enjoyed hearing what you had to say. I had a bad Long Island experience too!

Spawn of Hell: Thanks for the review!

Phoinios: thank you so much for your review. I especially appreciated your comment about the description, because you described exactly what I'm trying to do. I feel that a lot of description just slows the story down unless you are an extremely poetic and skillful writer, so I try to give enough to set the scene and then move on. Thanks again!


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the long wait! Events beyond my control kept me from writing for about three weeks, and I really, really apologize. But, I'm back in action now, although I fear my readers may have lost interest by this point… But, if you're here and you haven't lost interest, thank you, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Also – I have a concern. I was checking my stats the other day, and I noticed something odd. Chapter 8 has about 80 more hits than chapter 7. So, unless a lot of people are clicking on chapter 8 and then backing up to seven and then forward again to 8, I think some people may have skipped chapter 7. I posted it at the same time as chapter 8, so if you just went directly to the last posted chapter, you may have missed it. So, if you didn't read the chapter where Yohji confronts Aya in his room, finds the picure, etc. etc., then you might want to check that out as it is fairly important plot-wise. Also, it was hard as hell to write, so I'd appreciate some readers! Sorry for any confusion.

And as always – thank you so much to my wonderful reviewers! I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Individual reviewer comments are at the end of the chapter.

…

Yohji gave his slightly-ajar bedroom door a solid kick with a booted-foot, a kick that should have sent the door springing wide and thumping into the bedroom wall with a dramatic crash. The actual effect of the kick was somewhat less dramatic as the door only managed to swing about a foot before its progress was slowed and then halted by something lying in its path. Yohji did a rapid mental survey of the room and determined that the offender was most likely a pile of dirty laundry. He grunted, braced his shoulder against the door, and pushed. The door moved a few inches and a twisted line of green fabric appeared, jammed in the narrow space between door bottom and floor. It was the laundry pile causing the blockage; he recognized the green of the shirt he'd worn when he'd gone out with Aya the other night. Yohji gave the bit of green a dirty look. He'd been doing his best not to think of the redhead, although, if he was to be entirely fair, he'd have to acknowledge that he hadn't been having a great deal of success with that even without the green-shirt's reminder. Not with the way Aya had looked tonight.

Yohji growled low in his throat and slammed his shoulder into the door with enough force to bruise, and the door shifted enough to allow him to squeeze through. He'd probably ruined the green shirt, though.

_Good_, he thought savagely. He didn't plan on wearing that shirt ever again anyway.

Yohji threaded his way through the minefield that was his bedroom floor, his foul mood prompting him to take less care than usual. As a result, when he finally reached the rather dubious sanctuary of his bed, he was nursing two banged shins courtesy of a suitcase handle and a viciously sharp dresser corner. He flopped unceremoniously down on his unmade bed and sternly told himself to ignore the fresh pain in his shins. He had a much more important problem to deal with: it was 2:30 in the morning, and he was out of alcohol. Fortunately, he had a system in place for just such a contingency, and he began a mental inventory of the various bottles he'd stashed about the apartment.

Bottle of Jack under the bathroom sink, behind the rolls of spare toilet paper – gone. He'd taken that one out after the Nagasaki Mission, the one where they'd found three girls they'd been too late to save lying like broken dolls in black, sticky pools of their own .

12-pack hidden beneath the loose floorboard in the corner of the mission room – gone. He'd finished that one up after that run-in with the Tokyo businessman who'd been hiring young prostitutes and quietly chopping them to tiny bits.

Vanilla Stolis behind that box of cornflakes of indeterminate origins in the kitchen cupboard that had survived even Ken's after practice kitchen-blitzes untouched – no, Aya found that one about a week after he moved in. He hadn't been eating the cornflakes, of course, no one, not even straight-laced Aya, actually ate cornflakes, but he'd taken it upon himself to do a kitchen-wide purge of food that was days, weeks, months, or in one rather disgusting case of something that may have once been some sort of pasta dish, years, past its expiration date, and the cornflakes box had been one of the first things to meet its demise.

Bacardi inside the hideous urn in the back corner of the flower shop that he'd thought was a secure hiding place because no one in his or her right mind would ever even consider buying a urn that looked like it was covered in cat-sick – no, that one was gone too. Unbelievably, someone had bought the urn, and he hadn't been able to perform a rescue operation before its new owner had happily carted it off.

Yohji groaned and covered his eyes with the back of a forearm. He thought hard, but he couldn't remember any other hiding places. It seemed that he'd exhausted all of his secret stashes.

_Of all the nights to run out. _

He'd finished off the last of the stuff he had in his room after his little chat with Aya last night, and he'd meant to pick up some more before he left to begin his surveillance in this club this evening. But, he'd spent the whole day energetically avoiding a certain redhead, and he'd completely forgotten about the errand when he'd fled the apartment in a sudden panic at the thought of encountering Aya decked out in club gear. He hadn't been sure he could stand seeing Aya dressed like that, knowing _why_ he was dressed like that.

He'd been walking into the dark, red-laced, interior of club before he'd remembered the alcohol, and by then it had been too late too late to turn back. There had been plenty of alcohol at the club, of course, and he'd certainly had enough drink offers from a parade of men and women in almost identical outfits of head-to-toe black leather to have had him blissfully passed out by now had he accepted them, but the elaborate mixed drinks Night Pleasures specialized in were not to his taste. Very little at that club was to his taste. Besides, he couldn't have had much more than the one bright green drink he'd ordered to blend in, no matter how much he'd wanted the numbing effects of the liquor to help him get through this mission. No, as much as the way the majority of the club's patrons had turned to stare when a collar – collar! – wearing Aya appeared in the club doorway had made him want to knock back about twenty of the green drinks, sickly sweet taste be damned, he couldn't have done that. Aya really would come after him with his katana if he found out that Yohji had been drinking on a mission, and, more importantly, Yohji had determined from his first glimpse of Tanaka that he was not going to let the man get anywhere near Aya with himself in anything less than top condition.. At the thought of Tanaka, the memory of the man's brief visit to the club rose unbidden in his mind, and his lip curled in a silent snarl.

He'd received Omi's whispered alert in his earpiece, so he'd been watching the door of the club from a strategically positioned, oversized, chair in the corner of the club when Tanaka had entered. Less than five seconds of observation had been enough to convince him that he'd been right to worry about this mission: the man was dangerous. Tanaka was tall and powerfully built, and he moved with the languid precision of a stalking jungle cat. His glance around the club had been that of a ruler surveying, and dismissing, his subjects with cold distain. That is, until his gaze had found Aya. Yohji had to admit, Manx had been right when she'd said Aya was Tanaka's type. Tanaka had been in the club less than ten seconds when Yohji saw his bored, casual gaze, sharpen and his muscles tense beneath his tailored suit. There was no doubt about what had caught Tanaka's attention: Aya's brilliant hair had shone like a bloody beacon in that mass of dark leather. Red fury had filled him as he saw the spark of desire in Tanaka's eyes, and he'd clenched his fingers around the armrests of his chair.

Then, just as Tanaka had begun moving towards Aya, Yohji had been forced to look away as a sharp stabbing pain shot along his left arm. He'd yelped, and turned to the source of the pain: five long, black-tinted fingernails that had just drawn five bloody furrows down the inside of his forearm. The owner of the fingernails, a pale girl with her short hair shellacked into a forest of dark spikes, was sitting almost on top of him. When he'd turned to her, she'd given him a smile which had revealed a few more of her teeth than he had been entirely comfortable with. Yohji's nerves had already been frayed from being in that club and waiting, first for Aya and then for Tanaka, and at this new assault his composure had cracked completely.

"What the hell was that for!" he'd yelled, and snatched his arm away and glared at the girl.

The girl's smile had faded as she took in his angry expression, and had been replaced by a look of confusion.

"I thought you wanted –" She'd trailed off, still looking at him as though she couldn't understand why anyone would object to having their skin torn off in strips. Then her eyes had flicked down, and when she'd continued her eyes and voice had contained a good deal more heat. "Well, you started it!"

"I did not!" He'd winced, aware that he sounded far more like a surly six year old than the suave lady killer he prided himself on being.

The girl had arched one pierced eyebrow and glanced pointedly at his right hand.

Yohji had followed her gaze and realized that his hand was clenched tightly around her wrist, not around an armrest as he'd thought.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean -" Yohji had dropped her hand hastily and babbled frantic apologies.

His discomfiture had seemed to amuse the girl, and her smile returned.

"That's all right Sugar. I didn't mind. I'd be more than happy to continue this." She'd cocked her spiky head in silent question.

Yohji's expression must have revealed his feelings about that, because the girl had laughed.

"Alright, but you should be more careful about who you manhandle in here. Some of the other girls aren't as forgiving as I am. Well, if you ever change your mind…" She'd winked at him and handed him a slip of red paper which he'd numbly accepted, and had left to find more appreciative company.

Yohji had sat for a moment, stunned, more by his own his own response than by anything she'd done. He never got flustered when talking to women, flirting was as natural to him as breathing.

After a moment, he'd shoved that thought aside, and had looked around the club for Aya. The redhead hadn't been at that bar, and Yohji had felt a burst of panic. Tanaka had vanished as well, and in the next instant Yohji had surged up off of his couch and had begun plowing his way though the densely packed dance floor towards the spot where he'd last seen Aya. He'd made it about half-way across the dance floor when a glint of white had caught his eye. Tanaka's white suit had been as eye-catching as Aya's bright hair in that place.

The man had emerged from an alcove separated from the rest of the club by deep crimson curtains, his jaw set in a hard, angry, line, and had stalked out of the club, crowds of club goers parting before him. Aya hadn't been with him, and Yohji had begun shoving his way towards the alcove, wishing he had Tanaka's mysterious talent for parting crowds. He'd been almost to the edge of the dance floor when he'd gotten tangled up in a black cord that connected a collar one man was wearing to a bracelet on another man's wrist. The untangling had involved some heated discussion, a series of rotating maneuvers, and the rejection of yet another drink proposal. When Yohji had finally worked himself free, he'd looked up to see a familiar head of red hair emerging from the draped alcove. Aya looked – strange. Dazed. Yohji had needed to forcibly remind himself that they were still undercover to stop himself from going to the redhead and demanding to know what had happened in that alcove. Instead, he'd watched worriedly as Aya made his way to the door of the club and wandered out into the night. Ken had been out there, at least, but waiting the fifteen minutes Aya insisted on between teammate departures on undercover jobs had been one of the most difficult things Yohji had ever done. When he'd burst out of the club exactly fifteen minutes later Aya had been gone. Ken had still been across the street comparing engine specs with a couple of bandana-wearing bikers, and he'd given Yohji a covert thumbs up when Yohji had walked past on his way to his car. Even with that reassurance, Yohji had committed a few dozen traffic violations in his hurry to get home. He hadn't been fast enough, though. When he'd gotten to the apartment Aya's Porsche had been in the garage and the redhead's bedroom door had been firmly shut. Yohji had stood outside that closed door for nearly half an hour, trying to muster the courage to knock. He'd wanted, he'd _needed_, to talk to Aya, to find out what had happened with Tanaka to leave Aya looking like he'd been hit by a bus. In the end, though, he'd walked away without touching the door.

Yohji sighed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. No, he hadn't knocked on Aya's door. Cowardly of him, perhaps, but he honestly didn't know if he could hear that something had happened between Aya and Tanaka without immediately going hunting for the man with his wire. Of course, doing that would spell disaster not only for him, but for the rest of Weiss as well: Kritiker would not be pleased if he ruined this mission by killing their only lead before they'd gotten any information out of him, and Kritiker tended to be rather indiscriminate in the dispensing of punishment. Although, he thought with a wry smile, his worry that Aya's response might not be to his liking was probably completely pointless. Aya probably wouldn't have told him anything even if he had asked. The redhead was not very forthcoming at the best of times, and this was most certainly not the best of times.

Well, either way, instead of talking to Aya, he'd decided to cope with his unwelcome feelings by a tried-and-true method: the consumption of lots and lots of alcohol. But, now that he'd determined that his stash was completely exhausted, he was facing the very unpleasant prospect of spending the hours until dawn with nothing to dim the bright images of Aya, clad all in form-fitting black, his crimson hair and brilliant eyes glittering like rare jewels held suspended in the pulsing darkness of the club. With nothing to dull the tides of anger that still swept through him every time his mind conjured images of Tanaka's hands on that incredible hair and gliding over that impossibly pale skin. Yohji gritted his teeth and glanced at the clock. 2:39. It was going to be a long night.

…

The sound of insistent pounding on his bedroom door slowly pulled Yohji into wakefulness. He blinked blearily up at his ceiling, and wondered vaguely why the proportions of the room seemed odd. The pounding continued, and he lifted his hands to rub the sleep from his eyes. He was wearing a shirt, that was odd. Yohji was definitely of the less-is-more school of thought when it came to sleep-wear. Although the shirt he was wearing barely qualified as a shirt. It was made of some sort of mesh material, and it left a large expanse of tanned stomach bare. As he levered himself up on one elbow, he realized that he was sprawled crosswise on his bed. That explained the odd proportions of the room – he wasn't used to seeing it from that angle.

The pounding stopped, and a moment later Ken's voice filtered through the door.

"Yohji, I know you're in there! You can't have slept through all that. Aya and Omi sent me to get you, we're having a mission meeting before Aya and I open the shop and Omi has to leave for school. So get your ass down here now!"

_Right. The mission. How could I forget?_ Yohji glanced over at his clock and, when he saw that it read 6:00, groaned and collapsed back onto the bed.

"Damnit Ken! It's 6:00 in the morning!"

"Don't complain to me. It wasn't my idea. I'll give you five minutes, then I'll tell Aya you don't want to come to his meeting and let _him_ come get you."

"Ken! You wouldn't!" Yohji was aghast. Ken generally confined his bloodthirstiness to missions.

"I would. I got a splinter pounding on your damn door and it hurts like hell. Five minutes."

Yohji heard the stairs creak as Ken clumped back down them and considered just closing his eyes and going back to sleep. But, even though he strongly suspected Ken was bluffing, there was a chance that Ken would actually set Aya on him. Yohji had been woken up by Aya once before, and that was not an experience he cared to repeat. Being shocked awake by a face-full of freezing water was not his favorite way to start the day. Groaning again, Yohji levered himself into a sitting position, and then, with a final heave, staggered to his feet. Looking down at himself he briefly considered changing his clothing. The tiny half-shirt and mock-snakeskin pants hadn't looked out of place last night at Night Pleasures, but they certainly would this morning. Glancing again at the clock, Yohji felt another flare of ire and decided his teammates could just deal with his unorthodox attire. They were the ones who wanted to have a meeting at the bloody crack of dawn, after all.

When he stalked into the kitchen a minute later, his teammates were waiting. Ken and Omi were sitting at the kitchen table, Ken enthusiastically plowing his way through a huge stack of toast, Omi watching him with his mouth quirked in an indulgent smile. Aya was leaning against the kitchen counter in all his orange-sweatered glory. Yohji winced, and resolved for the thousandth time to make sure the sweater met with an unfortunate accident in the washing machine. For now, though, he was glad he'd had the foresight to snag his sunglasses from on top of his dresser as he'd left his room. He pulled them on and breathed a sigh of relief as the jarring crimson-on-bright-orange montage dimmed into muted shades that were a bit more tolerable. Something really needed to be done about that sweater.

Ken looked up from his mountain of toast when Yohji appeared, and moved his wrist so he could see the face of his sports watch.

"four minutes, fifty three seconds. Right on time Yohji! That's a first, maybe we should close the shop today to celebrate! Or -", he added hastily as Aya shot him an icy glare, "we could just have the meeting." Ken suddenly became very interested in his plate of toast.

Omi remained silent, and when Yohji glanced at him he saw that the boy was staring at Yohji's outfit, a faint flush of pink rising in his cheeks. Suddenly Yohji wished he had taken the time to change. Ken had seen his outfit last night, and Aya might have if he'd seen him in the club, but Omi had been down in the mission room when Yohji had left. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now.

Snagging a free chair with an ankle, Yohji sat and settled into a comfortable slouch. Then, steeling himself, he did what he'd been avoiding since he'd walked into the kitchen: he met Aya's eyes.

Yohji almost flinched at what he saw, or rather didn't see, in those eyes. Aya's eyes were as cold and dispassionate as ever. Any trace of the emotion Yohji had seen there during their little discussion the other night was gone – buried so deeply that it might never have been. Yohji sighed. He hadn't expected any different, really, but that icy, uncaring, regard still sent a stab of hurt slicing through him. Apparently his confession two nights ago hadn't miraculously melted Aya's heart.

_Of course it didn't. We're talking Aya here. When has anything ever been easy with him?_

The thought, despite everything, made him smile. As he smiled, he thought he saw a spark of astonishment in Aya's violet eyes, quickly suppressed. Aya broke the eye contact abruptly, striding forward to place a stack of printouts on the table. Yohji leaned forward to get a closer look. They looked to be pictures of a restaurant.

Aya returned to his position against the counter, crossed his arms across his chest, and spoke.

"I made first contact with the target last night, but I didn't get the information we needed, so I will be making contact again."

"And how exactly are you going to do that?" Yohji snapped acidly, all this talk of "making contact" making him very upset indeed. "Hang around at the clubs and hope he notices you again? He'll think you're following him." Yohji hoped that sounded reasonable: at the moment he wasn't feeling terribly reasonable. The thought of Aya making any kind of contact with Tanaka had turned his stomach to sour ice.

"I'll be meeting him for dinner tomorrow night at this restaurant." Aya gestured to the pictures on the table, giving no sign that he had even heard Yohji's outburst. "It's called the Flowering Vine. We'll do a similar arrangement to last time in terms of surveillance. Omi, you'll be back here on com. Ken, I want you to check out Tanaka's car. The restaurant has valet parking -"

Ken interrupted. "I got it. I've got the uniform from that I used for that job a few months ago. Omi, you'll have to be "Star Temporary Agency" again."

Omi grinned and nodded. "No problem. Just make sure you remember the business cards this time."

"Good." Aya cut back in. "Yohji, you'll be in the restaurant. On a date. Try and get yourself a table near the back of the restaurant, near the painting of the grapes. I looked through the pictures, and the nicest table is in that corner. That's the table Tanaka will get."

Yohji wanted to claim that there was no way that Tanaka could get the best table in the most exclusive restaurant in the city, but he knew Aya was right. He'd only seen Tanaka for a few minutes last night, but that had been enough to tell him that Tanaka was the kind of man that always got the best. Then the rest of what Aya had said hit him.

"I'll be on a WHAT?"

"A date," Aya repeated calmly.

"I will not! Do you have any idea how much the restaurant costs? And you know Kritiker will never reimburse me."

"They will. I cleared it with Manx twenty minutes ago."

Oh. Well, that blew that excuse.

"Jeez. Doesn't Manx ever sleep?" Yohji muttered sullenly, trying to think of another excuse. He couldn't very well tell Aya his real objection to this wonderful plan – that he wasn't sure he could sit there with some girl and see Tanaka sitting with Aya and not try to throttle the man. Then he had one.

"I can't get a date by this evening," he said smugly. "No self respecting woman would admit to being free if I called her and asked her out tonight. See, she has to make me think she has a very full social calendar, so that I know she's doing me a favor by going out with me. I might be able to swing next week." Yohji was satisfied. A week should give him plenty of time to think of another excuse.

"I'm sure you can work something out. I think the girl who gave you those marks would be happy to oblige. And make sure you're there before 8:30. That's all." Aya walked out of the kitchen, heading in the direction of the shop.

Yohji sat and stared after him, momentarily too confused to speak.

_Marks? What marks?_ Then he remembered, and he jerked his arm up, his face going crimson with embarrassment. The marks the spiky-haired woman had left on his arm were still very much in evidence, scrawling down his arm in vivid, angry, welts.

_God, I look like I've been mauled. _

Yohji looked up and saw Ken and Omi carefully avoiding his eyes, their expressions of bland innocence instantly telling him that they were doing their utmost to suppress laughter.

"Great. Just great." Yohji muttered to himself as he climbed back upstairs to get a few more hours of sleep.

The sound of laughter followed him.

AN: That's all for now folks. Sorry that not much happened, especially after the long wait, but I promise to get things going in a more action-y vein soon. That is, if I still have any readers left after my long hiatus. Please review if you've got the chance – you have no idea how much I love reading your comments. Thanks for reading!

Comtess – As always, thank you, thank you, thank you. Love your reviews, love you, etc. I'm glad you like the descriptions, I always think they are a bit crap, so it's nice to hear that someone likes them. On another note – I read the latest chapter of your fic and I loved it, but the review function wouldn't let me in! Now that it's no my mind again, I'll go back and try to review again as soon as I get this sucker up. And I didn't think your Aya did an out-of-character about face at all, you gave enough insight into his feelings to let us know that he was always nice on the inside, he just didn't show it very well. Anyway, loving it, and sorry about the lack of review.

jma – thanks for the review – I don't know why the chapters appeared the same for you, they are definitely different. Sorry for the trouble but I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

AeryonSun – thank you so much for your wonderful reviews! I really appreciate knowing that someone is enjoying the story and the writing. I worry about my writing skills, I've never really done any creative writing before, so I'm glad you're enjoying it! I hope you liked this latest chapter.

Animegiol – thanks for the consistent reviewing and the constructive criticism. It's always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.

Spawn of Hell – Thanks for the cheery encouragement!

Duos-deathscythe – sorry for the lack of action! And there wasn't any this time either…my apologies. I'll try and get some going for you, but unfortunately my Aya is more a fighter than a lover, I think. I'll work on that though ;-)

RuByMoOm17 – thanks for reviewing, I hope you're still enjoying.

Ptath – Thanks for reviewing and predicting! Although I may have to start stealing some of your ideas for plot development…hmmm. Hehe, just kidding, but good ideas! I'll definitely check out your fic – I've been very absent from for the past few weeks, so I haven't had a chance to look at much of anything, but I'll definitely check it out!

Moon without a Sun – Thanks for your sweet review! I don't really like angst either, and I've discovered in writing this fic that I HATE writing it, but I don't think I can write a weiss fic without some good old angst. They're all just so messed up! I hope you can bear with me. Thanks again!

Sky Rat – Thanks for reviewing, hope you enjoyed this latest chapt.

Tre-chan – I'm glad you like my gloomy Aya! I just can't buy him getting cheerful too quickly, and I also think he's more fun when he's all pissy. I hope you're still liking the story.

Barbera – Thanks for another wonderful review. I especially enjoyed your Yami no Matsuei comment because when I received your review I'd just started watching the series for the first time. I have now finished the series and am totally addicted – perhaps a Yami fic will be my next project, if I ever get this sucker finished. So anyway, the Muraki similarity was coincidental since I had no idea who Muraki was when I was writing it, but I am now more enlightened and flattered by the comparison! Thanks again!

Celdria – I'm so glad you have found the wonderful world of Weiss fan fiction. I've been puttering around in here for far longer than is decent, and I can tell you that there are a lot of amazing fics out there that are much better than my little fic. I can point you towards some of my fav's if you'd like – just let me know in a review.

Michelle – thanks for appreciating my humor!

Merciless waters – thanks for reviewing, hope you're still enjoying.

Slate Grey – Thank you for your very kind review, particularly your comment about description vs. action. I always feel that a lot of description bogs fanfics down, but then I worry that I'm not describing anything, and so on. Thanks again!

Thornangel – lol, thanks for the review! I don't like anybody but Yohji touching Aya either.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Authors note: So…yeah. If I have any readers left after this insanely long hiatus, I give you all my most heartfelt apologies. There were a number of factors contributing to the lack of updates which I'm not going to go into here, but I really do apologize, especially to all my wonderful reviewers! Hopefully I'll be able to keep the next few chapters coming at a more reasonable pace.

Also, I got my first really negative review after the last chapter. The complaint was that there was too much description and that it was making the story tedious. Although it's obviously not great fun to get criticism, I would really appreciate knowing if more people feel this way, because if a lot of people do I obviously need to rethink my writing style. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'll really try to get the next chapter and all future chapters up posthaste. Thanks for reading!

….

Sitting in his parked car, Aya glanced at his watch and was disappointed to see that the hands hadn't miraculously jumped forward in the 15 seconds since he'd last checked the time. 8:23. He was still early. Aya didn't have much experience with dating, but from listening to Yohji's endless accounts of his romantic exploits he had picked up a few guidelines, the most important of which was to never, ever, be early. Apparently, if you were early, your date got the impression that you had nothing better to do than to sit around waiting for him or her, and that was a very bad thing. Aya didn't really understand, but he did recognize that Yohji was more experienced than he was in the dating department, and was therefore willing to accept his judgment. But, even though he recognized the necessity of it, being late for anything was completely contrary to Aya's nature. Although he'd made every effort to delay himself, he'd still arrived at the restaurant 15 minutes early.

Yohji was probably already inside, enjoying his dinner and flirting. Aya wondered if the blonde had called the girl from the night before. He'd clearly had a rather passionate time with her at Night Pleasures. Aya felt a surge of anger at the memory of the visible signs of that passion: Yohji's arm had looked like a scratching post. Yohji should have known better than to do _that_ while on a mission. Telling himself firmly that that, and only that, was the reason he was angry with Yohji, Aya looked down at his watch again. 8:26. Still a bit early, but it would have to do since he suddenly couldn't bear to sit waiting any longer. Slamming his car door shut, he started across the street towards the restaurant.

He'd gotten about halfway across when a long, black, limousine pulled up in front of the restaurant's main entrance, blocking his path. Annoyed, Aya shot a glare at the opaque black windows and turned to make his way around the big car. He'd only taken one step when a cultured voice stopped him.

"It seems I owe you still another apology, this time on behalf of my inconsiderate driver. I had hoped to begin this evening more auspiciously." Tanaka stepped smoothly out of the limousine and executed a graceful half bow. "My most humble apologies."

Startled, Aya nonetheless felt a wash of relief pass over him at the sight of Tanaka. Aya was fully aware he was probably safer in a pit of vipers than with this man, but at least Tanaka with around he would need to be fully focused on the mission, and maybe he would actually be able to force the image of livid scratch marks on golden skin from his mind.

…

Yohji looked around the Flowering Vine as the waiter escorted him and his date to their table, and had to concede that Tanaka knew his restaurants. The western-style dining room was flawlessly decorated in tasteful shades of cream and green, the guests were impeccably dressed, and, as he watched, a team of six tuxedo-wearing waiters bearing elegant silver trays glided smoothly from the kitchen and deposited their burdens onto a table in perfect unison.

To Yohji's profound relief, his date looked as though she came to such places every night. She didn't, of course, Yohji knew that only too well. He had to admit that she certainly cleaned up nicely: if he didn't have the marks to remind him he would never have believed that the elegant, silk clad, lady he was following across the room was the same spiky haired demon who had practically clawed him to death the night before.

He still couldn't quite believe that he was actually voluntarily spending time with a woman who had mauled him on their first meeting, but unfortunately he hadn't really had any other options. Contrary to Aya's beliefs about the state of his social rolodex, Yohji had actually allowed the majority of his contacts to lapse in the past few months. Even Manx hadn't been an option: when he'd finally resigned himself to calling her for help he'd gotten a recording saying she'd be away on business for several days. Then he'd remembered the crumpled piece of paper his attacker from Night Pleasures had given him. He'd dimly recalled shoving the paper into one of the many zippered pockets in his pants, and a few minutes of searching had yielded the scrap of paper with a scrawled phone number and the name "Mayori" written on it. A phone call, somewhat to Yohji's surprise, had resulted in a date with Mayori, and here he was.

The table to which the waiter led them was near enough to the empty table in the corner that he could see it clearly, but wasn't so near that Tanaka was likely to notice him. Yohij was relieved - he really hadn't been looking forward to the emasculating duty of telling the waiter that he needed to be reseated because he felt a draft in this corner of the restaurant. He waited until the waiter had settled Mayori into her chair before taking his own seat. When the waiter left them, Yohji tried to think of something to say while casually adjusting his seat to give himself a better view of the table in the corner, but Mayori saved him the trouble.

"You know, I didn't think I'd be hearing from you. You seemed a little uncomfortable last night."

That was an understatement. "Well, last night I was trying something new. It wasn't quite what I expected."

Mayori grinned. "Don't sweat it, sweetheart. Night Pleasures can be a little extreme if you're new to the scene. There are a few scared looking newbies there every night. You can pick them out a mile away. Ususally, I steer clear. I'm not much interested in anyone who doesn't know what he wants, but you were just too cute to resist." She twirled a strand of her now spike-free hair around a finger, and it struck Yohji that she was actually quite pretty now that she didn't look like a walking S&M poster. Maybe this date wasn't going to be as bad as he'd thought.

A few minutes later, Yohji realized that he had spoken far too soon. In those ten minutes, the date had taken a swift downward dive into break-a-window-in-the-bathroom-to-make-your-escape territory, and it was all his fault. Trouble had started a few minutes ago. Mayori had been telling him about something or other, and he'd been pretending to listen while actually staring at the restaurant entrance, waiting for some sign of Aya and Tanaka. He'd been responding to her chatter with the sort of non-committal "mmm's" and "huh's" that tend to convince people you are listening to them when in actuality your thoughts are a million miles away. He'd thought she'd been buying it, until his last "hmm" had been met by a stony silence rather than a resumption of chatter. With some trepidation, he'd looked away from the restaurant's empty doorway to check on his companion. What he'd seen in her dark eyes was not reassuring; her gaze was coldly calculating.

Now, as Mayori continued to regard him with that assessing gaze, Yohji knew that he hadn't fooled her a bit. A small, slightly frantic, voice in the back of his mind wondered what part of him she was planning to maim. Yohji glanced involuntarily down at her fingernails, and was not reassured to see that, while they were a shimmery nude instead of deep crimson tonight, they were still quite long and sharp-looking.

Yohji sighed. As nervous as he was about those nails, he couldn't really blame her for being angry. He'd been horribly rude. He was trying to formulate some sort of apology when she surprised him by speaking again.

"So. Who is she?"

Yohji was thrown by the question. Apparently he'd missed even more of the conversation than he'd thought. He'd thought she'd been telling him about the months she'd spent hiking in Europe. After racking his brain for several long and fruitless moments, he was forced to ask "She?"

"The girl you wish was sitting across from you instead of me."

_Oh_. Yohji opened his mouth to adamantly deny that there was anyone in the world he would rather spend an evening with, but Mayori held up a hand to forestall him.

"Please. You've already spent the past half hour ignoring me, don't lie to me too."

Yohji dropped his head in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry."

"Wonderful, but you didn't answer my question. Who is she?"

"There is no "she". There is not a single woman I'd rather be out with tonight than you." That was true enough.

"Alright, I'll try again. Who is he?"

"What?"

"Well, if it's not a she, then it's a he, because it's definitely someone."

Yohji ground his teeth. He'd known that calling this girl had been a bad idea. He'd felt it in his gut. She was too damn sharp.

"There's no one…" Yohji's protestation trailed off as a flash of very familiar red in the club doorway abruptly diverted his attention. Aya and Tanaka had arrived.

Tanaka was in black tonight, a monochromatic ensemble interrupted only by the deep crimson rose pinned neatly to his lapel. Aya, wonder of wonders, was not in his usual stark black, but was wearing a violet shirt that almost exactly matched his eyes. Tanaka wasn't touching Aya, but he was standing so close that he may as well have been. And Aya come-within-ten-feet-of-me-and-die Fujimiya was allowing it. Not only was he allowing it, but Yohji could swear that Aya's pale cheeks had taken on a distinctly rosy glow. Aya blushing?

_That bastard!_ In the haze of his anger, he wasn't sure if that latest thought had been directed at Tanaka for standing so proprietarily close to Aya, or at Aya for letting him.

"Ah. So it _is_ a 'him'."

The amused voice broke through the fugue of rage surrounding him.

_Damn_. He'd forgotten Mayori again. With an almost physical effort, Yohji wrenched his gaze away from the pair at the door and turned back to Mayori. She'd certainly cheered up: she was grinning at him in a way that probably would have made him even more nervous than her scowls if he had been paying more attention.

"I'd hoped it was a 'him'," she continued, unfazed by his dark expression. "It's less of a blow to the pride, you know. And I must say you have excellent taste. I noticed that one last night, but then again, I think everyone did. So, were you stalking him last night too?"

That caught Yohji's attention. "I didn't…I'm not…", he stammered, and cursed Aya for distracting him enough to cause this desertion of his usual glibness.

Mayori's laughter interrupted his ineffectual attempts at explanation, and Yohji stopped speaking in favor of glaring at her. He really did not need this tonight.

"I'm glad you find this all so amusing," he muttered sulkily.

Mayori did not appear in the least abashed. "Well, it looks like I'm doing you a favor here, being your cover. The way I see it, you owe me something in return, besides this very expensive dinner which I am definitely not paying for. I figure some entertainment is little enough to ask."

Yohji started to protest, and then stopped. She did have a point. He was using her, if not in exactly the manner she thought. And actually, this notion of hers could prove useful. He needed to watch Aya and Tanaka, and since it had become pretty clear that he wasn't going to be able to do it without her noticing, he was going to have to do it with her cooperation. And since he couldn't tell her the real reason for his observation, the reason she'd come up with would do as a cover. Even if it was humiliating.

Gritting his teeth, Yohji forced his lips into what he hoped was a bashful smile. "Alright, you caught me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to use you. I just…I just didn't know what else to do."

Mayori watched him for a few heartbeats, all traces of mirth gone from her face, before speaking. "Alright. I can't say that I understand or approve of your methods. Skulking around after someone is a good way to get a restraining order filed against you, not a good way to get a date. But, I was watching you when Red over there came in the door and I could see that you care about him a lot. So, I'll cut you a deal. Tell me what's going on here, buy me the most expensive thing on the menu, and I'll consider not going over there and telling him that he's got a shadow."

_Shit_. Yohji couldn't have her doing that, Tanaka would smell a rat in a second, the mission would be ruined, and Aya would kill him. Maybe playing along with her stalker theory hadn't been such a great idea.

Frantically, he tried to come up with some story that cast him in a less creepy light. "The redhead and I - we work together. That guy he's with, the dark one, they've been sort of seeing each other, and I don't trust him. I was worried, so I found out where they were going. That's where you came in." There. Yohji thought that had enough of the truth in it to be fairly believable, and it had the benefit of painting him as an overprotective co-worker rather than as a lovesick lunatic.

"Hmm. So you're just looking out for him. You're not here because you're jealous?"

"No!" The denial came out rather more vehemently that he'd intended. Mayori's lip twitched in what might have been amusement, but to Yohji's relief she didn't challenge his statement.

During this exchange Aya and Tanaka had made their way to the corner table. Mayori, whose back was to the couple, indicated the air over her shoulder with a jerk of her chin. "I have to give you points for thinking this out – I can't see a damn thing. You're going to have to give me a play by play. If you get to spy, I get to spy too. Are you worried Red might notice you're here?"

"Not really," Yohji replied absently, his attention taken up by the way Tanaka was leaning towards Aya to point out some item or other on the menu. "He knows I had a date tonight, he'll assume it was a coincidence."

"Right."

Yohji shot her a sharp look at that.

"What? I was agreeing with you." She looked at him, eyes wide and innocent. "So what are they doing?"

"Reading the menu. Oh, wine's arriving. They must have ordered it when they sat down. It's an expensive bottle, a few hundred dollars at least."

"It looks like your friend's fella knows how to treat a date."

That comment earned her another dirty look.

"Well, Mr., I don't see any wine on _this_ table, expensive or otherwise. As I recall, when the waiter asked about drinks, you said we were fine with water."

Yohji had the grace to wince at that. He didn't even remember the wine steward coming by.

"So, what's going on now?"

"They're talking." Yohji didn't add that Aya was smiling, a sight that made Yohji want smash Tanaka's teeth in, mission be-damned. Yohji balled his fists in his lap, and tried to keep his murderous thoughts from showing on his face. It was going to be a very long night.

…

Tanaka was speaking, and Aya was trying very hard to listen. It shouldn't have been difficult. The man was brilliant and charismatic, and his conversation was reflective of these qualities, but Aya was finding it distressingly difficult to think about anything but the couple that was sitting a few tables away. He couldn't look at them, of course: Tanaka might notice, and Yohji would definitely notice, but he'd caught a glimpse of them when he and Tanaka had been walking to their table. Yohji's date was really quite stunning: all huge dark eyes and creamy skin. Far too much of that lovely skin was exposed by the low bodice of her gown for Aya's liking. He couldn't deny the effectiveness of the outfit, though: she was drawing quite a few appreciative stares from the male patrons and a corresponding number of hostile glares from their female companions. And Yohji – well, Yohji definitely looked as though he'd dressed to impress.

_Well, with a date like that, who could blame him?_ Even as the reasonable part of his mind noted this fact, Aya realized with a growing feeling of horror that another, less reasonable, part of his mind, could, and did, blame Yohji for dressing up to seduce a pretty girl.

Thankfully, that train of thought was interrupted by his realization that Tanaka had stopped speaking and was waiting expectantly for a response.

Aya aimed a few silent curses at himself for allowing thoughts of Yohji and his date to distract him from his mission. He _knew_ how dangerous this man was, and he was daydreaming. If another member of his team had allowed himself to become distracted like this while on a mission, he would have been furious. But there was no time for self recrimination now, he had to salvage this situation.

"Excuse me? I'm sorry, I was…distracted." Aya gave Tanaka what he hoped was a coy look that indicated that Tanaka himself was the cause of this distraction.

Tanaka seemed to buy it: his smile widened and he repeated himself with no signs of irritation.

"I asked, would you care for more wine?"

Aya was about to refuse, but Tanaka had already gestured to the hovering waiter, who hurried to pour a generous amount of the deep red liquid into Aya's glass.

Aya eyed the glass with some trepidation. He'd drunk the small glass the waiter had poured shortly after they'd arrived since he'd realized how expensive the bottle was and hadn't wanted to offend Tanaka, but he really did not like to drink on missions. Tanaka was watching him expectantly, though, so with a sense of resignation Aya lifted his newly-filled glass and took a small sip. As he swallowed, Tanaka smiled and seemed to relax slightly, and Aya felt a prickle of unease. Aya tried to push the feeling aside. The bottle of wine had come straight from the kitchen and the waiter had poured every glass. Tanaka had never even touched it, there was no way he could have drugged it. _He's probably just trying to get me drunk_, Aya thought scathingly. _Maybe he and Yohji should start a club._

With some effort, Aya managed to plaster a smile back onto his face and returned his attention to Tanaka.

…

Yohji watched Tanaka escort Aya from the restaurant and fumed. The bastard actually had his arm around Aya's waist now! If was taking every scrap of self control he possessed to keep him from leaping across the restaurant to rip that arm off. As the pair vanished, he turned back to Mayori to find her looking at him, her expression sympathetic.

"You've got it bad for him, don't you?" she asked, for once her voice free of any hint of mockery.

Yohji rubbed at an aching temple, suddenly feeling too exhausted to lie anymore. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Mayori didn't seem to have anything to say to that, so Yohji began toying with the remains of his dessert. He was partially through dissecting a cherry when Omi's voice crackled into his earpiece, loud enough to make him wince with the pain.

"Balinese, you need to get back here. Abyssinian left with the target!"

Yohji shifted in his seat, confused. Of course Aya had left with the target; Yohji had watched them walk out together. Omi's voice came through the earpiece again, shriller this time. "Balinese, didn't you hear me? Abyssinian is gone!"

"What the hell," Yohji said out loud, earning himself a surprised look from Mayori. Omi's message didn't make any sense. Aya had walked out of the restaurant less than five minutes ago, Ken was with Tanaka's limo to keep an eye on things, and there had been nothing in the mission plan about Aya going anywhere other than back to the Koneko since they weren't prepared for security and surveillance at Tanaka's apartment. This didn't make sense – Aya never deviated from the mission plan.

Omi's voice crackled to life once again. "Dammit Yohji! Move! We have a major problem." Omi had forgotten to use his code name. Omi never forgot the code names. Something really must have gone wrong. Yohji stood abruptly, mumbled some excuse or other to a startled Mayori and bolted out of the restaurant.

As soon as he was in the street he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number of the Koneko.

Omi picked up on the first ring.

"Yohji, is that you?"

"It's me. Please tell me he didn't do something stupid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line.

…

AN: That's all for now folks, I apologize for the cliffhanger, but I do promise that the next update will be on it's way in a much more timely fashion than the last. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I apologize again for the ridiculously long wait!

As always, reviews are very much appreciated! Thanks so much for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Weiss Kreuz characters or story elements used in this story; they were created by people far more talented than I. This piece was written solely to show my appreciation of this excellent series, and I am not making any money from this story.

Author's note: I've finally got a new chapter up! I'm so sorry for the long wait, and I especially apologize to all my reviewers and those of you who sent me private messages asking if I'd abandoned the story. I do promise to finish the story, no matter what, so you guys don't need to worry on that count. I think I'll be able to get the rest of the story out in fairly short order so you guys won't have to wait too long. The reason it look me so long to get this chapter up is that I applied to grad school this year and, surprisingly, I actually got into a few places, so for the past few months I've been traveling around quite a bit visiting schools and whatnot and deciding where I wanted to go. But, I've made a decision and everything has settled down, so now I can get back to writing again! Sorry again everyone, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. I worry that the long wait may have built it up too much, so I hope you guys aren't disappointed.

…

Yohji took the stairs leading down to the mission room three at a time. Omi was sitting at the computer, typing furiously, and Ken was looking over his shoulder, but both of them spun around as Yohji stormed into the room.

"Dammit Omi! Why wouldn't you pick up the damned phone! I've called you 18 times since you hung up without telling me a god-damned thing! What the hell is going on!"

Omi swallowed hard, and raised a hand in a gesture of placation. "I'm sorry for hanging up on you, I had to take care of something right away, and I couldn't do it and talk to you too."

Yohji took a deep breath in a futile attempt to control his temper and rising panic. "Alright," he said, making a supreme effort to make his voice sound calm and controlled. "Just tell me what happened."

Omi and Ken stared at him, eyes wide in pale faces, and Yohji fought down the urge to reach out and shake them until they told him what he needed to know. Finally, just before the frayed ends of Yohji's nerves snapped altogether, Omi said, "we don't know. I was tracking him on the computer through his com's signal, and just before I called you the signal started moving."

Yohji's impatience got the better of his resolution to remain calm. "Of course it did! He and Tanaka walked out of the restaurant!"

Omi visibly flinched at that, and Ken and put a hand on his younger teammate's shoulder before turning an uncharacteristically steely blue glare on Yohji. "Yohji, this isn't his fault, and if you want to help you need to shut up and listen."

Yohji took another deep breath and fought down a ridiculous urge to laugh. Ken was the most impulsive, excitable, and least experienced member of the team, but he was doing a much better job of keeping his head in this sudden crisis than Yohji was. And Ken was right, this wasn't Omi's fault. "I'm sorry, Omi. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'm just…worried."

Omi managed a shaky smile. "It's ok, Yojhi-kun, we're worried about him too. You're right – the signal moved because Aya left the restaurant. But then the signal just disappeared. The com should have kept transmitting all the way back here, but it just disappeared!"

Omi's eyes were watering dangerously, and after giving the younger boy's shoulders a comforting squeeze, Ken took up the briefing. "I was in the garage. I hadn't been able to get anywhere near Tanaka's car, his driver never left the damned thing for a second, he was like a bloody Doberman or something, so I was keeping an eye on him from the valet booth. I saw him pull out, and so I traded off with one of the other guys and took the stairs back up to the street. I got there in time to see the limo pulling off. Aya wasn't anywhere around. I thought maybe he'd just walked really fast, so I went back to where he left his car. The car was still there, Aya wasn't. By then it was too late for me to try to follow the limo, so I called Omi, Omi called you. You know the rest."

Yohji raked his fingers through his hair. "This doesn't make sense. Aya wouldn't have left with the target. That wasn't in the plan, HIS plan!"

Omi shrugged helplessly. "We know. But if he didn't go with the target, he would have checked in with me."

Yohji knew Omi was right. Aya always checked in. "Fuck."

"That about sums it up," Ken said faintly.

"We need to know where that limo went." Yohij's voice sounded distant in his own ears, and he sagged into the lumpy embrace of the mission room couch.

"I'm working on that. That's why I didn't pick up those times you called me on your way back here."

"Ah."

"If the limo went back to the lab or to Tanaka's apartment, then we'll know soon. Kritiker left a skeleton surveillance team in place at each location, and they have orders to copy me on Tanaka's movements."

"Nice to know they have so much confidence in us," Ken muttered under his breath.

Omi ignored Ken, and continued, "If Tanaka went to either of those places, we'll know soon. But if he went somewhere else things get a little more complicated. So, while you were on your way back here, I hacked the police database."

"You did what?" Yohji yelped, jolting erect on the couch.

"I hacked the police database. I tagged Tanaka's Limo as "stolen" and flagged it as a Priority One vehicle, so its plates should get transmitted to all mobile units immediately. Hopefully an officer will see the car and report on its location. With a few modifications, one of the Kritiker transceivers is now picking up police frequencies." Omi brushed back some of his hair, revealing a communicator in his left ear. "I'm listening in now."

Yohji blinked. "Are you sure you haven't missed it? I mean, with the talking and all."

Omi gave Yohji an exasperated look. "Yes I'm sure. They've arrested one man for public intoxication on the south side of the city and stopped one green Suzuki Aerio on Chou Don since you've been here. Although if you would stop asking me questions, this would be-" Omi broke off abruptly and his eyes went blank and unfocused as he listened.

Yohji tensed, his muscles quivering with the effort of remaining still and silent. Omi listened for what seemed to Yohji like hours, but in actuality was probably less than a minute before whirling to face his computer and typing rapidly on the keyboard.

"The cops found the Limo," Omi said, not taking his eyes from the computer screen. Yohji and Ken moved up behind him as the boy continued, "the driver showed his registration and license and is getting the mistake sorted out. The incident should be put down as a computer error. I'm getting a map now. Here!"

A map flashed up on the computer screen. "It's about 30 minutes away."

"Right, let's go." Yohji headed for the stairs.

"Wait!" At Omi's exclamation Yohji paused, but didn't turn around. "What are you going to do?"

"Get him back."

"Any ideas on exactly how you're going to do that? We don't know anything about this place! There was nothing about it in the mission file; for all we know there could be 100 guards in there. We want Aya back too, but he'd be the first to tell us that we can't run into this blind."

"He's right," Ken interjected. "Can you imagine how pissed Aya would be if we got ourselves killed, or worse, compromised the mission, trying to rescue him?"

"I don't care!" Yohji glared at his teammates, his hands unconsciously forming into fists.

The gesture was not lost on Omi or Ken, and the two younger assassins moved closer together.

"Alright," Omi said. "We'll go. But recon only, at least until we see what we're up against. Deal?"

Yohji nodded once, sharply. "Can we go now?"

As Ken and Omi stood, Yohji thought of something else. "Omi, let's leave Kritiker out of the loop for now, at least until we know what's going on."

Omi's brows drew together. "But mission protocol says…"

"I know what mission protocol says. Just leave them out of it, ok?"

After a moment's hesitation, Omi nodded. Yohji could see the question in the younger assassin's eyes, and he was grateful when Omi didn't voice it. Yohji couldn't explain to Omi and Ken why he was so certain that Aya wouldn't want Kritiker to hear of any mission-mishaps. It was something to do with the girl in the photo that Aya kept in his room; he remembered the flash of protective panic in Aya's eyes that night when he'd found the picture. There was something going on there, and Yohji was willing to bet that Kritiker was tangled up in it. So, for now, until they could get Aya back and he could decide for himself what he wanted to tell or not tell his employers, Yohji would make sure no one said anything.

…

For the second time in a period of time far too short for his liking, Aya woke in an unfamiliar bed. The sheet beneath his cheek felt like silk this time, not cotton, and Aya wondered vaguely if the upgrade was intended to impress Yohji's curvaceous, sloe-eyed date. Although if that was the case his own presence in the bed would likely prove somewhat inconvenient. Why had Yohji brought him here, then? Had Yohji gotten him drunk again? His head felt as fuzzy as it had last time, and he was having just as much trouble putting his thoughts together. But, no – Yohji couldn't have gotten him drunk. They'd had a mission. He'd been at dinner with Tanaka, then what? A piece of his hair was tickling his cheek and he lifted a hand to brush the offending lock away.

Or tried to. As he tried to move his arm he was met with resistance. Aya went very, very still. A surge of fear-induced adrenaline flooded through him, scattering the fog that clouded his mind, and one fact became terribly clear.

This wasn't Yohji's bed. Yohji would not have tied his wrists together. An experimental twitch of a leg revealed that his ankles had also been tied, and Yohji would not have done that either. Not if he expected to be among the living for any longer than about three seconds after Aya got loose.

Now fully in mission mode, Aya thought back quickly, coolly, trying to reconstruct the events that had led him to this decidedly inauspicious position. He'd been having dinner with Tanaka at the Flowering Vine. Yohji and his aggravatingly gorgeous date had been sitting a few tables away, Ken had been playing valet, and Omi had been on the com. Tanaka had been speaking, and Aya had been trying hard to pretend like he was listening while in reality he'd been focusing all of his attention on not looking over at Yohji and his date. Tanaka had ordered wine, and Aya had taken a sip or two to be polite. Then things started to get a little hazy, muffled, as though he'd been surrounded in a cocoon of filmy gauze. He dimly recalled Tanaka signaling for the check, and then Tanaka's hand clamped like a vise beneath his elbow guiding him to the door. Then he'd been slumped against a car door, and there had briefly been hands on his throat, chin, and in his hair. The hand's hadn't lingered, they'd moved quickly, professionally, and he'd heard Tanaka murmur a few quick words, heard a higher pitched reply followed by the mechanical whirl of the partition that divided limo driver from the passengers in the rear. After that, everything was a blank until he'd woken up here.

Well, he could piece together the blanks easily enough. There must have been something in the wine, and Aya cursed himself for assuming that since the wine had come directly from the kitchen it was safe. He'd walked out of the restaurant with Tanaka, apparently of his own volition; Yohji would have been too far away to notice that anything was wrong. Ken should have been outside, but he must have gotten held up in the garage. Omi would have been tracking him, but Aya remembered with a sinking feeling those fingers in his hair, around his ear, and knew even without being able to check that his com unit was gone.

This was bad. In fact, this was about as bad as it could get. He was captured and, since Tanaka had known to look for the communicator, clearly compromised as well. He'd failed to complete the mission – even if he did somehow manage to get loose, there wasn't a chance that Tanaka was going to let him near any sensitive information now. For an instant he was consumed with a sickening, paralyzing, dread. What would Kritiker do when they found out? His contract with them stated that if he was ever captured or killed while on a mission that they would ensure that his sister was taken care of, but Aya had never been so naïve as to actually believe them. That's why he'd been funneling practically all of his earnings into an account that he'd set up with Magic Bus Hospital. There was a small fortune in there – working for Kritiker was lucrative, it was the main reason he'd signed on, but Aya's care was horrendously expensive. He didn't think he'd saved enough to support her for more than a couple of months. If Kritiker didn't keep up their end of the deal – well, he couldn't think about that right now, not if he wanted to stay sane. And even if he got loose, when Kritiker learned that he'd compromised the mission – well, he couldn't think about that either.

About the only thing he could hope for was that the rest of his team hadn't been compromised as well, and that they had enough sense not to remedy that by coming after him. He'd done his best to keep his distance from his team, to ensure that none of them felt any personal affection for him, in large part to make sure that if something like this did happen they wouldn't be overly eager to risk their lives to save his. He'd caused too much death in his life, and he didn't think he could handle being the cause the deaths of three people he worked with, was responsible for, and, against all of his better judgment, had come to care for. Now, he prayed that he'd succeeded. A few days ago he would have said with confidence that there was practically no chance that his team would defy Kritiker mission protocol to come after him, but now he recalled with a feeling of foreboding the conversation he'd had with Yohji a few nights ago. "I care about you," Yohji had said. God, he hoped for everyone's sake that wasn't true. But if it was, against all odds, true then Aya had to get himself out of here before Yohji came looking for him and got himself killed in the process.

Still maintaining the fiction of sleep, Aya began surreptitiously testing the bindings on his wrists and ankles. They were made of some sort of slippery, sleek, substance, which he thought might be silk. That was a good sign. No one who really knew what they were doing used silk. Silk looked artistic, but its slinkiness made it difficult to tie good tight knots. And whoever had trussed him had tied his hands in front of him rather than behind his back. If he was alone in the room, he could probably use his teeth to undo the knots. Cautiously, Aya cracked his eyes open. He couldn't see much from where he was lying. A pile of finely embroidered pillows in shades of red, black and gold obscured most of his vision, and the only other thing he could see was the corner of a delicately carved wooded writing desk and matching chair. He was about to risk shifting slightly, hoping to make it look as though he was just shifting in his sleep, in order to get a better look, when the question of whether or not the room was empty abruptly rendered moot by the sound of a door unlatching somewhere nearby. Aya shut his eyes and listened as booted feet thudded against the wood floor, pacing leisurely around the bed and coming to rest in the vicinity of the writing desk. There was a squealing noise as the chair was pulled out and its legs dragged across the floor, and then the sound of a body dropping into the chair. Then there was silence, and Aya's muscles tightened with the effort of keeping still. And then the figure in the chair spoke.

"I know you are awake. Come now, this childish deception does not become you."

Aya stiffened at that, his eyes coming open in reflex. Tanaka was sitting in the writing chair, legs casually crossed, lips quirked in a small smile. The smile widened as Aya glared at him.

"Why, are the accommodations not to your liking? I have given you the finest bed in the house and, I assure you, this is a very fine house."

"Do you tie up all of your guests? Or am I just special?"

"Oh, you certainly are that. But I'm afraid that this arrangement is necessary for my security, and that of my employer. You haven't been entirely honest with me, after all, have you Mr. _Ryo_." The last words were mocking. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would tell me your real name. I know what you are, and further pretense is pointless."

Aya didn't reply. Security for his employer, Tanaka had said. Did that mean Tanaka's employer was here? Aya felt a small fluttering of hope. Maybe he hadn't failed completely after all.

Tanaka waited for a moment, and then sighed philosophically and continued in a conversational tone. "Well, you will tell me soon enough. Perhaps when I bring in your blonde friend and cut off his fingers, one by one, while you watch."

Aya's mind went blank with uncomprehending terror. _How_ –

Tanaka laughed softly, reading the question in Aya's eyes. "How did I know? My dear, I have eyes. I don't think anyone in the Night Pleasures that night missed the way he looked at you. And then we went to dinner and lo and behold! There he was again. And this time, not only did everyone notice how he looked at you, everyone noticed the way you very carefully did not look at him. Also, I have not risen to my present position without learning to spot a plant or a tail. Ordinarily, you, your blonde admirer, your brown haired friend, and whoever was on the other end of this" Tanaka pulled Aya's missing com unit from his jacket pocket and dangled it negligently between two fingers, "would be dead right now. The agents your organization has watching my home, my place of business, I have ignored because they are harmless. I know what they seek, and they will find nothing. But you and your friends, well, you are of a different sort, yes? But you are fortunate. My employer and I have taken and interest in you, and for this reason and this reason only you continue to breathe in and out. Unfortunately I cannot extend the same consideration to your friends if they come searching for you, and I would be willing to stake a substantial portion of my not insignificant fortune on your blonde friend arriving in the very near future. So, my dear Ryo, you have two options. You may choose to cooperate with me, beginning with giving me your actual name, and your friends will die quickly. Or you may choose not to cooperate, and their deaths will take significantly more time, and I will ensure that you see every moment. Now I will ask you one more time. What is your name?"

Aya shut his eyes, and his legs and arms curled in tighter, instinctively balling around the sick fear that roiled through his gut. "Aya. It's Aya," he said softly, and Tanaka smiled.

…

"Omi, Kritiker's been tracking Tanaka for weeks, right? How could they have missed a place like this?" Ken said. He and Omi knelt shoulder-to-shoulder on the ornate red tiles of the roof of a house in the most expensive district of the city. The house they were currently using as a look-out point was bedecked in elegant carvings and graceful gardens, and it had probably cost its owner a small fortune, but it paled in comparison to the house across the street. It was this house that was currently the focus of all three assassins' attention. They'd arrived at the address that Omi's work with the police scanner had provided a quarter of an hour ago and, after a few minutes of searching, they'd spotted Tanaka's limo parked at the end of the gated driveway of an enormous baroque monstrosity that was jarringly out of place among the traditional Japanese homes that comprised the rest of the neighborhood. They'd climbed onto the roof of the neighboring house, and were now trying, unsuccessfully, to look through the drawn curtains of the mansion.

"They couldn't have, unless…" Omi trailed off, glancing nervously at the still figure crouched a few yards further down the roof. Yohji's face was as still and impassive as one of the stone gargoyles ornamenting the corners of the roof. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid gave any indication that he was following his teammates' conversation, but Omi lowered his voice anyway. Yohji's temper had been explosive and unpredictable since they'd taken this mission, and Omi hadn't missed the fact that those explosions of temper centered on a certain redhead of their acquaintance. "Unless he hasn't come here since Kritiker's been watching him. Unless he saves this place for…special…guests."

"Like Aya, you mean." Ken didn't lower his voice, and Omi winced and took another covert look at Yohji. Yohji still didn't look over towards them, but the faint glow of light from the mansion's windows outlined the rigid muscles of his clenched jaw. Omi turned back to Ken.

"Yeah."

Abruptly, Yohji stood and stepped back from the roof's edge. He turned to his teammates, and the expression on his face sent a tingle of ice down Omi's spine. His face was pale and tight under his tan and his eyes had narrowed into slits of green ice.

"This is ridiculous." Yohji spoke softly, but Omi could hear an edge of steel in his voice. "We can't see anything from here. We need to go in."

Omi didn't want to say it, but someone had to. "Yohji…" he stopped, unable to continue in the face of his normally genial teammate's sudden cold fury. Then he felt the reassuring weight of Ken's hand settle on his leg, and he found the nerve to continue. "We went over this back at the house. You know we can't go in there. We have no idea what kind of security systems the place has, how many guards-"

"I know, dammit! But I also know that Aya is in there somewhere with that man, and that every second we stand out here arguing is another second that he, that he-" Yohji shuddered and stopped, and the icy anger his eyes cracked apart, revealing naked terror. Instinctively, Omi reached towards him, to help, to comfort, but Yohji took a step back and closed his eyes for a long moment, seeming to collect himself. When he opened his eyes, the terror was once again buried beneath a frozen crust of fury.

"I'm getting him back. Now. Tonight." Yohji's voice was so low as to be almost inaudible.

"You two have a simple choice. You can help me, or you can get the hell out of my way. Decide."

Omi looked at Ken. Ken's dark blue eyes were clouded with worry, but he met Omi's gaze and nodded. Omi put his hand on top of Ken's and gave it a squeeze before turning back to Yohji. He knew as well as Ken that the choice Yohji had given them was no choice at all. "Alright, let's do it."

…

AN: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! If you have a second I would really appreciate hearing what you thought.

Also, I have a question, and if any of you could help me out, that would be fantastic. I don't know how to space dialogue on this site. It drives me crazy that I can't do indents so that multiple lines of dialogue are indented as they are in traditional print media, and I don't know if it's easier for you guys to follow the conversations if I put a blank line between every line of dialogue, or if I just leave them in a block. For this chapter, I put blank lines in between. If you guys tell me what you think, or if you have any suggestions for formatting on this site, could you please let me know? I would really appreciate it. And while I'm asking for favors, I may as well mention that I'm still looking for a beta reader! If anyone would be willing, please let me know.

Thanks again for reading.


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